


Alchemy

by VirgoDraconis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Divination, Dreams, F/M, HEA, Hogwarts, Miscarriage, Post-War, Romance, Rondemption, Slow Burn, Smut, Standing Stones, all hail Potterotica, alternate life, eighth year, emeralds, reformed Draco, ron who?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 114,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirgoDraconis/pseuds/VirgoDraconis
Summary: When Hermione wakes up in a place she doesn’t remember visiting wearing a necklace she’s never seen, she has some concerns. But those worries fade to the background as she is drawn in by the unexpected presence of one Draco Malfoy, who haunts her dreams and continues to cross her path. What would happen if she strayed from the path in front of her--said no to a life with Ron and returned to Hogwarts to learn what life could look like if she followed her heart instead of her head? She might just discover that dreams can come true, even the ones you never thought to dream.
Relationships: Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, dramione
Comments: 96
Kudos: 151





	1. Prologue: June 1998

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to JK Rowling, who created the characters and the universe that allow this story to told. I will be posting one chapter per week beginning February 29, 2020. It's going to be a long one, so get comfortable!
> 
> Finally, this story is dedicated to my beloved alphas--Sterl, Gray, and Ang--without whose suggestions, support, and encouragement this story would not exist.

**Prologue: June 1998**

Hermione, still struggling to wake up, was clinging to the remnants of the vivid dream she had been having. As the details slipped from her waking mind, she fought a feeling of panic that her whole life would fade to oblivion if she couldn’t remember something important. It had something to do with Ron. They were celebrating their wedding anniversary; only it wasn’t much of a celebration. Hermione was surprised by the strength of the feelings in her dream—resentment, anger, discontentment, and finally sadness.

She heard the soft bleat of a sheep somewhere in the distance. Surely that hadn’t been part of the dream. A cool breeze made her shiver, blowing away snatches of the conversation she’d been having with Ron. Hermione caught one sentence before it was gone.

“You can’t still be angry at me for being too sloshed on our wedding night to remember it!” shouted Ron. Had he been drunk on their wedding day? What an awful thing to imagine. There was light behind her eyelids now, and the last fragments of her dream evaporated in the warmth of the rising sun. How very strange.

As she struggled to open her eyes, Hermione noted a stiffness in her body that reminded her of the many times she’d fallen asleep pouring over her textbooks at Hogwarts. Had she fallen asleep at her desk again? Hermione could feel a breeze caressing her with icy fingertips and chided herself for leaving the window open. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was surprised to discover herself lying on a bed of lush grass at the foot of what looked to be an overgrown headstone. Hermione popped up to a sitting position, regretting it instantly as her head spun. Had she fallen asleep in a graveyard? What in Godric’s name was she doing there? Hermione’s rational mind took over, forcing her to look around and take in the details of her surroundings. She sighed with relief. She was not in a graveyard. She was, however, somewhere equally strange. Somehow, Hermione had fallen asleep in the ring of a vast stone circle.

She stood up to get a better view. Birds were chirping too merrily in some nearby trees, and Hermione shivered again. She opened her beaded bag and summoned a soft tartan blanket to wrap around her bare shoulders. Without the distraction of the cold, she could focus on a more pressing matter: where exactly was she? The stones, though tall, were shorter and further away from each other than Stonehenge. Cross that off the list. She could be in Cumbria—large circle, low stones. But then she spotted a smaller inner circle and beyond that a small village—built, it appeared, in the midst of the circle. Not Cumbria, after all. She’d have to walk into town to confirm, but she suspected she was in Avebury. She set off toward the village, hoping she could find a place to purchase a newspaper and maybe a bottle of water.

She reached the village edge and stopped momentarily to stow the wool blanket in her bag—she certainly didn’t need anyone knowing she had slept in the open field. Hermione crossed a deserted car park and found herself on the main road of what appeared to be a quaint old village. To her left was a brick building with darkened windows. Beyond that, a copse of trees behind a low stone wall obscured her view of whatever structure lay sleeping in the chilly morning. To her right, a towering wall of trees revealed the edge of a red brick and stone building wearing a small wooden name tag—a farm of some sort by the looks of it. That wouldn’t do. She found what she was looking for across the street. A tall brick building bore a sign that simply read, “The Shop.” Surely they would have what she needed. She hurried across the street and ducked into the warm interior of the shop.

“Good morning, dear,” said an older muggle woman. The shopkeeper’s short gray hair and stylish accessories deterred Hermione from telling any half-truths, convinced they would be as transparent as the lenses on the shopkeeper’s smart emerald glasses. The less Hermione said, the better.

“Good morning,” Hermione replied politely. A cursory glance around the store revealed a local newspaper and a small cooler that did indeed have bottled water.

“You must be here for Avebury’s Midsummer’s Eve celebration,” said the shopkeeper. It wasn’t a question. “We have the largest stone circle in Britain, as I’m sure you know,” the shopkeeper continued. Hermione had a vision of herself wearing a floral wreath. How very unlike her, but she supposed she had been there— no point in denying it. In a small village like this, the locals were bound to know the comings and goings of every resident, reserving plenty of curiosity for the activities of outsiders.

“Yes. Lovely weather for it, too,” said Hermione remembering the warm summer sun on her skin as it sank slowly, slowly toward the horizon. The shopkeeper beamed with pride as though she were Mother Nature herself. Funny, these villagers. But kind all the same. Hermione smiled and paid for her items.

“Thank you, dear. Come back now.” the shopkeeper said.

"Goodbye," replied Hermione as she left the shop. She walked to the edge of the building and stopped to lean against an empty red telephone box. She shook the paper open and noted the date: June 22, 1998. It was the day after summer solstice. That’s right. She had wanted to visit on that day after reading something intriguing in a book about muggle folklore. What was it? It flitted through her mind like a feather in the wind. The headline on the front page read, “Local Woman Remembers Her Future and Other Midsummer’s Eve Faerie Stories.” Even Hermione, a witch who had used a time-turner in her third year at Hogwarts, laughed at the absurdity of this. It sounded much like divination, her least favorite subject—too fluffy and inaccurate. She folded the paper and swallowed a mouthful of water. She really must get home.

She walked past a lovely stone building—“The Henge Shop” the sign read—toward an opening to the field where the stones were scattered. In any other circumstance, she would have stopped to browse. It was the type of place that was bound to sell obscure books along with unique trinkets and, she’d wager, collections of gemstones polished to a high shine. Finally reaching a break to the open field, she sighed and made her way to a faraway stone behind which she could safely apparate home.

***

Hermione sighed in relief once in the warm confines of her house. Though if she was honest with herself, she frequently wished she'd had anywhere else to go than back to her empty family home. When familiar grief threatened to cripple her, a simple reminder that her parents were safer where they were until the last of the Death Eaters were locked away in Azkaban, forced her back to the practical reality of the present. Wards on the house would be enough to protect her—after all, they had kept her and Harry hidden even in the middle of the open woods during the Horcrux hunt. Hermione tried not to think about the others that could never be brought back. What she needed right now was a hot shower followed by a cup of tea and some ginger biscuits, and then, perhaps, a good cry.

She trudged upstairs, tossed the beaded bag on her bed, then made her way to the bathroom. While the water heated up, she undressed. She stood before the mirror over the sink to assess her appearance. Bits of grass and dandelion fuzz clung to the thicket of curls on her head—so much for no one knowing she had slept outdoors. She plucked the flora from her hair and smoothed down a rogue curl, rolling her eyes in reluctant permission of this small vanity.

Steam billowed around her and something in her hazy reflection caught the light. A quick wave of her wand cleared the fog from the mirror revealing a delicate gold chain around her neck. It was long enough that she could lift the ring on the end of the chain to examine it without unclasping the necklace. It was a lovely thing, this ring. Vintage. A single, and rather large, cushion cut emerald was tilted on its axis so that two of the rounded corners aligned with the band. The emerald was framed by a delicate diamond halo that looked like—there was no other way to describe them—leaves. It was set on a thin gold band she suspected would fit her finger perfectly. Wherever did this come from? She thought to remove it for her shower, but it felt too dear. Instead, she dropped the necklace, letting the ring settle over her heart, then stepped into the water.

There was nothing more relaxing than a hot shower. For a minute, Hermione just stood beneath the stream of water and let it wash away the memory of the ancient stones and the dream of her unhappy marriage to Ron. She began to lather herself with lavender soap, not bothering to use the loofah that hung nearby. She closed her eyes and ran her hands from her neck to her torso passing over her breasts, across her midsection, and continuing to her hips. Hands washed lazily down one thigh to the delicate bones of her ankle.

Eyes closed, she let her mind drift unanchoring from the pain and stiffness that was slowly dissipating. Wouldn't it be luxurious to have someone else wash her? Hands moved from one ankle to the other. She could imagine someone else’s hands brushing over her calf, circling her thigh, then roaming teasingly over the soft thatch of hair between her legs before continuing upward. A tingling sensation began to spread from her core. Hands grazed her breasts, nipples rising in their wake. And before she knew what was happening, she was pulled into an embrace.

Lips crushed against hers, teeth grazing her lower lip, tongue forcing her mouth open. She leaned into the hard planes of a man in obvious want of her, losing herself to his touch.

When she finally pulled away, she looked up at a pair of steely grey eyes boring into her with a look of desire so intense it almost knocked her off her feet. She gasped and the vision dispersed in a puff of steam. Her heart hammered in her chest. What just happened? Was it a hallucination? A dream? She didn’t care, she wanted more. But it was gone.

She choked down the surge of disappointment filling the empty shower. Shock and acute loneliness fell in warm rivulets down her face. Her sex still throbbed. Without deciding to do it, her hand felt its way toward release, pleasure ripping through her almost the moment fingers parted her swollen lips. As she broke apart, a long-suppressed truth escaped its rationalized prison and settled in her blissfully quiet mind: she had long wondered what could have been if she had met Draco Malfoy under different circumstances.


	2. July 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who've subscribed and everyone who is reading along. I'm planning to post on Fridays (so that you have new content to read over the weekend!). This one is twice the length of the prologue. Stay tuned for chapter three next week when things begin to get more interesting!

**July 1998**

“Harry, did you actually cook dinner?” Hermione asked. Harry had invited her, Ginny, and Ron to Grimmauld Place for dinner. She knew that Harry was looking for a flat in London. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place permanently, but for now, it would do.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Hermione. I had plenty of practice cooking for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,” Harry said teasingly, though they all knew it was very much true.

“And he’s picked up a few charms from Mum,” said Ginny proudly.

“It’s a good thing, too,” Ron said to Ginny, “because we all know you aren’t about to turn into...Harry, who’s that muggle woman who writes those books—”

“Mary Berry,” Harry answered, laughing. Harry choked back his laughter and turned away when he caught Ginny’s glare. Harry had admitted to taking a couple of Aunt Petunia’s discarded cookbooks when he left Privet Drive for good. Ron liked to flip through the pages and drool over the pictures of food.

Ginny pointed her wand directly at Ron, and he took a step backward. “Well, Ron, at least I don’t rely on Mum to cook all my food and wash my clothes.”

“She said she likes doing those things for me!” Ron retorted.

“Right,” said Ginny laughing derisively. She lowered her wand and turned to Hermione. “Let’s go set the table.” Ron walked far away from Ginny and started a loud conversation with Harry about Quidditch.

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Ginny said to Hermione. They waved their wands and plates, silverware, and napkins floated toward the table creating four perfect place settings. Hermione felt herself burning with shame. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Ginny, but things hadn’t been going very well with Ron since she had woken up in the stone circle, not that he had noticed.

Ginny cocked her head to one side and raised her brow. “Or have you only been putting up with him?” she guessed astutely.

“Erm, well…” said Hermione. That fiery-haired witch didn’t miss a thing. Hermione lit two candles with her wand while she searched desperately for an explanation that would make sense to Ginny. None of this nonsense about dreams and even odder daydreams.

Ginny’s expression softened. “We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Ginny said just as Harry announced that dinner was ready.

Harry carried a hot casserole dish to the table, hands bare but, Hermione guessed, protected by a cooling charm. He set the dish on the table next to the flagon of pumpkin juice Ginny had brought from the kitchen. Then, he waved his wand and conjured a salad, summoning the ingredients neatly into a large acacia serving bowl that Ron had set on the table.

Hermione clapped enthusiastically, too proud to be envious of his skills in the kitchen. Ginny only smiled at Harry, while Ron picked up a serving spoon and began loading his plate with food.

They chatted pleasantly while they served themselves and began eating Harry’s delicious dinner—a cottage pie complete with dauphinoise potatoes and a surprisingly tasty side salad.

“So Hermione,” said Harry. “Have you decided whether or not you will be joining us for Auror training?”

“Actually, I have,” said Hermione. Ron grinned, and Hermione frowned. “I’ve received a letter from McGonagall,” she pressed on. Ron’s smile faded. “She has personally invited me to complete my final year at Hogwarts, along with most of the other students from our year, of course.” She let the implication hang in the air for a moment but then hurried on before they could spend too much time thinking about the awful things that had prompted the invitation.

“And, well, I’ve accepted. I sent her an owl this morning,” Hermione finished. Ron was frowning, fork hanging limply in his hand. Harry and Ginny were smiling at her.

“That’s great, Hermione,” said Harry. “I think—”

“But Shaklebolt said he’d waive our N.E.W.T.s!” interrupted Ron. “There’s no reason to go back to Hogwarts. Hermione, what are you thinking?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Ginny, “Do you even know Hermione?” she rolled her eyes and shook her head, then turned to Hermione. “I, for one, am excited to have you with me at Hogwarts this year.”

Hermione realized she had been clenching her teeth only when she had to relax so she could reply to Ginny. “Thank you, Ginny and Harry. Obviously, I think it was the right choice for me.” Hermione looked pointedly at Ron.

“I’m just going to miss you, Hermione,” said Ron. Hermione exhaled. She couldn’t deny that she had thought about how odd it would be at Hogwarts without Ron and Harry as her constant companions.

“I’ll miss the two of you as well,” said Hermione. Ginny looked from Hermione to Ron.

Ron cleared his throat, abandoning his fork altogether. “Hermione,” said Ron, “you are my best friend, and I can’t imagine my life without you. Marry me.”

Ginny’s eyes were wide with surprise. Harry had closed his eyes and was shaking his head.

“Ron…” started Hermione. She couldn’t believe he had just proposed to her. “You never have to imagine a life without me,” Hermione said carefully. Ron started to smile, but she raised her hand to indicate that she wasn’t done speaking. “Whether or not that life is lived as husband and wife… I just don’t know. Just...just give me a few days to think about it.”

“Hermione,” Ron said, “if you can’t say yes right now, then you might as well say no. We all know that’s what it means, anyway.”

“Ron!” said Ginny warningly, but Hermione cut her off.

“No,” said Hermione. “Everyone does not know that is what it means, because I don’t even know what my answer is right now, though you are coming perilously close to me hexing you right out of the possibility of ever marrying anyone who doesn’t want to kiss a toad to do it!” shouted Hermione.

“Hermione,” said Ron back-peddling frantically, “no, I mean, of course, you need time to make up your mind, it’s a big decision. Think about it. It’s just... I really love you,” he finished meekly.

Why did she always end up feeling like the villain? Ginny cleared the table with a wave of her wand.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said to Ron, “can you help me bring dessert over from the kitchen?” The scraping of chairs was the only reply as they made their way to the kitchen.

Ginny leaned in toward Hermione, eyes searching, “Are you...okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione said automatically. Ginny gave her a look. “Alright, no, I’m not. I wasn’t expecting that. I can’t explain it right now, but I need a little time. I’m not ready to say no...or yes.”

“Of course,” said Ginny, nodding in understanding. Though, of course, Ginny couldn’t fully understand. If Harry had proposed, Hermione was certain Ginny would not have hesitated to say yes. Still, Ginny knew her brother, and Hermione appreciated the gesture.

Harry and Ron returned moments later with a lemon drizzle tray cake and a pot of fresh coffee, some cream, and a small bowl of sugar.

When they each had cake and coffee, Harry spoke up. “So,” he said changing the topic, “you will never believe the interesting week I’ve had.” When no one responded, he continued.

“I spoke on behalf of Malfoy and his mother during their trials,” he paused waiting for a response. Hermione’s head snapped up as a memory of her shower came unbidden to her consciousness. She tried to fight the heat that was sure to be showing in her cheeks. Ginny was staring wordlessly at Hermione; fork suspended mid-bite.

“Oh?” Hermione squeaked, avoiding Ginny’s soul-piercing gaze. If she didn’t know any better, Hermione would think Ginny was a skilled Legilimens. “Hmm,” Hermione said, kicking herself for her complete inability to respond normally. And now, even Ron was giving her an odd look.

“How did it go?” Ginny said to Harry while looking at Hermione in a way that meant she expected answers later.

“Well,” said Harry, “after the trials, Shaklebolt told me it was only my testimony that kept them both out of Azkaban.” He ate a large forkful of lemon drizzle. Ron was gaping at Harry.

“They are free?” Ron asked.

“Sort of,” said Harry, washing his cake down with some coffee. “They’re on one-year probation. Don’t know what the terms are.”

“They are free. Just like that?” repeated Ron.

“Yes, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “I think Harry made that quite clear when he answered your question two seconds ago. Of course, we know you are incapable of accepting answers you don’t want to hear.” She knew it was harsh, but she couldn’t refrain from saying it. Ron closed his mouth, stung by her words. Ginny gave her a reproving look, channeling Mrs. Weasley in startling accuracy, though she would never admit that to Ginny.

“The Wizengamot,” continued Harry carefully, “thought their actions at the end of the war displayed a sincere rebuke of Voldemort and his ways. Can’t say I blame them after the horrors they must have seen in their own home.”

But this was too much for Ron. “The horrors they saw?”

Oh, for Godric’s sake, was he going to respond with rhetorical questions every time? Hermione bit her tongue. She didn’t know why she should care so much considering what she had suffered in that house. What Ron knew she had suffered, she reminded herself. She remained quiet, her anger ebbing.

Harry ignored Ron’s question. “I would be dead if it wasn’t for Narcissa. Hell, Ron, we would all be dead if Malfoy had identified us in the manor that day.”

Ron’s face was bright red. “I’m not saying they are completely innocent or that I’m going to become Malfoy’s best friend,” Harry continued, holding up his hands in response to the look of outrage on Ron’s face, “just that they may have seen the error of their ways. Anyway, it was the right thing to do.”

“And Lucius?” said Ron through clenched teeth.

“Yes, well, that’s another story,” Harry said taking a drink of his coffee. “Lucius will be free on the condition that he brings the other Death Eaters to justice as he’s promised. Until they are all in Azkaban, Lucius will be held there himself.”

The evening finished awkwardly. Hermione promised Ginny that they would meet in Diagon Alley the following month to shop for school supplies. Ron offered to escort Hermione home, but she had refused, telling Ron that it wouldn’t be necessary since she would be apparating directly into her house. Ron left dejectedly while Hermione thanked Harry for dinner and bade him and Ginny goodnight.

Hermione was relieved, for the moment, to be alone. In her room, she undressed, then slipped on Ron’s old Chudley Cannons shirt. It was large on her small frame and soft against her skin. She turned off the lights and crawled into bed. Moonlight shone through the sheer curtains on her window falling across the foot of her bed where Crookshanks once slept. Hermione still hoped that he might return to her, but it was time she accepted that some things in life only last for a season. If you didn’t take time to appreciate the sparkle of new snow, the spring sun would melt away your chance to hold on to the only thing that was ever left behind: memories.

Hermione’s eyes began to feel heavy. She wondered whether she was taking Ron for granted. Or maybe she was only holding onto him because she was afraid of losing yet another person she loved. Her grief at the losses—of Crookshanks, of her friends and family, of her childhood—raged like a furnace, burning away every untruth, making it difficult for her to tolerate things she’d easily overlooked and ignored before. The truth was, she and Ron were really not very compatible. Their bickering at dinner was typical of their relationship. Was love enough to overlook their considerable differences? Did she really love Ron the way a wife should love a husband? Hermione felt a heaviness blanket her body and she finally drifted off to sleep.

_Ginny looked stunning. Her knee-length dress, a gorgeous shade of cerulean, was cinched with a braided brown belt just above her gracefully sloping belly. It seemed that pregnant women did have a glow about them, at least, Ginny did. Mrs. Weasley had invited family and friends to a small baby shower in honor of Ginny and Harry’s first baby—due in just two months._

_A dozen round tables were scattered around the garden. Here and there guests were sitting at tables and chatting. Most guests, however, were milling around: congratulating the parents-to-be, helping themselves to the generous spread of food Mrs. Weasley had provided, or catching up with other guests. Harry and Kingsley Shaklebolt—Minister Shaklebolt, Hermione corrected herself—were laughing heartily. Bill and Percy were looking cautiously into a box George was holding out for their inspection (some new item George was testing, no doubt). Neville, Dean, and Seamus were deep in conversation near the garden wall; they didn't see young Teddy and Victoire barreling toward them in pursuit of a garden gnome._

_Hermione chuckled as she sat by herself at one of the tables on the perimeter of the gathering. Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had outdone themselves. At the center of each table were three quidditch hoops blowing bubbles that drifted around the garden. Floating just above each set of hoops was a small mobile, miniature brooms chasing little golden snitches in endless circles._

_"Hermione!" said Harry sitting beside her._

_"Hello, Harry!" said Hermione smiling. She looked up at the mobile. "I was just wondering if your wife is still flying."_

_"No, she's on leave right now. Came a bit too close to a bludger at the last game and the Harpies manager insisted she go on early leave. She'll return soon enough—not until after the baby is born, of course."_

_"I'm so happy for you both, Harry," said Hermione. Harry smiled contentedly._

_"So," said Harry, "when will we be attending your baby shower?"_

_"Mine? Harry, you know perfectly well I'm not pregnant," Hermione laughed. "Ron and I aren't even trying."_

_"That's not what Ron told me," he smirked._

_"Oh?" Hermione said, forcing a smile to remain on her face._

_"Just the other day Ron was saying—" Harry started._

_"What was I saying?" said Ron taking a chair at the table. He was eating his way through a small plate loaded with sausage rolls, small Cornish pasties, mini Victoria sponges, and a few tiny Chelsea buns._

_"You were telling Harry about how we are trying to get pregnant," said Hermione tilting her head and raising a brow in askance._

_"I believe what I told Harry is that we were talking about having children," Ron corrected. He took a bite of a Victoria sponge, leaving a bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes. Some things would never change._

_"Harry, dear, there you are!" said Molly Weasley. "You are needed for photographs." Harry shrugged helplessly as Molly dragged him away, but he was smiling all the while._

_Once Harry was out of earshot, she said, "Ron, why would you say that to Harry?"_

_“We were talking about it,” said Ron. “Even if we aren’t planning on it right now, though I still don’t understand what we’re waiting for.”_

_“You know I'm not ready to have children,” Hermione said. “I'm so busy at the Ministry right now, and you have your hands full trying to build up Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with George. We don't have time for a child right now." She felt like she had said this a hundred times._

_"Hermione," said Ron, "there is no perfect time to have a child—just ask my mum." As much as she adored her mother-in-law, Hermione had no intention of asking Mrs. Weasley._

_"You know very well I'm not waiting for 'perfect,' Ronald," Hermione huffed. "It just isn't an ideal time for children...nor for this conversation."_

_"Luna!" Hermione stood up to hug her friend who had just made her way to their table. Ron nodded in Luna's direction, then excused himself (probably refilling his now empty plate)._

_"Hello, Hermione," said Luna in that dreamy way of hers. "I was just about to predict whether Ginny is going to have a boy or a girl using the ring on a string method."_

_“Were you?” said Hermione._

_"Ginny was having trouble removing her ring earlier—bit of swelling she said," Luna explained, "—but perhaps the one you're wearing around your neck could work," said Luna in question._

_Hermione looked down at the necklace in question. There was the emerald ring, hanging on a delicate gold chain. Luna reached out and touched the ring._

_"Where did you get this?" Luna asked curiously._

_"It's an interesting story, actually," began Hermione._

Hermione woke with a start. She felt around her neck for the ring. It was tucked safely beneath the collar of the shirt—protecting her hair from the prongs of the ring that always seemed determined to tangle in her hair. Outside, the world was quiet, still dreaming in the early morning hours. The day was rousing lazily from its slumber. Hermione’s thoughts drifted toward the dream she’d just had. This preview into her possible future with Ron was telling. Her older self was not yet ready for children, and she knew it had little to do with her career despite what she’d said in her dream.

She got out of bed, ignoring the siren song of sleep. The faint blue light of dawn announced the slow ascent of the sun and she wanted nothing more than a strong cup of coffee. Hermione walked carefully downstairs, not bothering with the lights. Soon, she would have to tell Ron that she couldn’t marry him, but not yet. Right now, the only bitterness she could swallow was the cup of French Roast she wouldn’t bother to soften with cream or sugar. She brewed her coffee and drank it slowly in the quiet dawn.

***

The following Friday was Harry’s birthday. Harry had said a birthday party wasn't necessary, all things considered. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, disagreed. Despite having lost a son, or maybe because of it, she insisted that they ought to take every opportunity to celebrate, and went on to plan a surprise party for Harry. In the end, they had all agreed with Molly, remembering his last birthday when they had fled for their lives, losing Hedwig and Mad-Eye Moody in the process.

Hermione was dressed and ready for the party. She wore a green and blue plaid skirt that reached mid-thigh and a fitted, high-necked navy blue tee. She wore the necklace tucked beneath her shirt as she usually did. Then, she grabbed a handful of floo powder, stepped into her fireplace and said, "The Burrow!"

Hermione arrived, five minutes early, in a puff of ash. A quick wave of her wand removed the soot from her clothes, and she stepped out to greet Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, dear, I'm so glad you could make it!" said Mrs. Weasley with a smile. "You are just in time. Harry will arrive any moment. Why don't you head out to the garden with everyone else." And Mrs. Weasley shooed Hermione out the door as she finished the last touches on a towering chocolate cake.

It was warm outside. The trees in the garden were alight with fairies, preening for guests who gushed about the effect of their glow against the gorgeous twilight sky. It was a small party, there were perhaps thirty guests in total, including some of their Hogwarts friends, members of the Order, and a few of Arthur or Harry's close Ministry colleagues. Ginny made her way over to Hermione, waving excitedly.

Just then, Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face Ron.

"'Mione," he said in greeting.

"Ron, please don't call me that. You know I don't like it," said Hermione, hating the diminutive nickname.

"I was hoping," he continued, "that I would have heard from you earlier this week."

"I know," Hermione said. "It's just, I've been busy at the Ministry. Kingsley has asked me to do some consulting work, as I'm sure you know. It's been a whirlwind, actually. But I'm glad for the distraction," she wished she had chosen different words. "Only I'm alone at home all the time otherwise, and it's too sad," she said by way of explanation.

"Hermione, I understand," Ron said. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept much this week. Hermione didn't know if he'd had a rough week of Auror training or if he had been agonizing over her response to his proposal. It was probably a little of both, but she felt bad about keeping him waiting.

Just then, Mrs. Weasley stepped outside levitating a large three-tier cake with her wand, candles blazing.

"Quiet now, Harry is on his way!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. She must have had Harry added to her clock—he was practically family, especially now he and Ginny were seeing each other. They all knew it was only a matter of time before he was an official part of the Weasley family.

"Maybe we can talk later?" Ron suggested.

"Of course," replied Hermione gently. Ginny had made her way to Hermione's side and Hermione turned to smile at her friend. Hermione felt a bit underdressed next to Ginny in her velvet slip dress, a rich burgundy that complemented her long red hair. Ginny looked Hermione up and down, a fiendish smile spreading across her face. Ginny glanced over in Ron’s direction, and when Hermione turned to look at Ron, his eyes shot up looking as if he had just been caught rifling through her delicates drawer. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Ginny.

"Harry thinks we are just having a small family dinner," whispered Ginny, not wanting to break the hush that had fallen.

Just then, Harry stepped outside.

“Surprise!” they shouted, and before Harry could register what was happening the group burst into song. Ginny reached Harry’s side just as they finished the last line of happy birthday.

“Make a wish!” Ginny said loudly enough for all to hear.

Harry paused for a moment, then blew out all the candles. Everyone clapped enthusiastically. Then, music began to play and everyone resumed their earlier conversations.

Even after dinner had been eaten and the cake had been served, the party continued in raucous gaiety. It seemed that Mrs. Weasley was right—everyone was in dire need of a reason to celebrate.

A bonfire blazed on a hill beyond the garden. Small clusters of party-goers sat on blankets scattered around the fire. Burning embers floated up into the sky, before bursting into tiny, glittering fireworks. Others sat at tables nursing cups of coffee or mugs of meade, chatting contentedly in the warm summer night.

Hermione watched it all from beneath a tree at the edge of the garden. As she stood leaning comfortably against the trunk, she spotted Harry and Ginny wandering hand-in-hand to a secluded corner of the garden and remembered the dream she'd had about another party in this garden. She smiled at what she hoped would be true one day.

Just then, Hermione felt a warm male figure press against her back, arms sliding around her in an embrace.

"You," whispered Ron, lips grazing her ear, "look amazing." Hermione shivered, turning her head away and he took it as an invitation to plant a kiss on her exposed neck.

"Erm, thank you, Ron," said Hermione responding to the compliment. "But," she said turning to face him, and then his mouth was on hers. He pulled her in close, kissing her with urgency of a man about to swear an oath of celibacy. Despite his fervor, Hermione found that his lips were soft against hers, and she gave in, closing her eyes in allowance of a last kiss.

She pulled away, her heart breaking at the look on Ron's face, then sat down patting the ground next to her.

"Sit," she said simply, and Ron did. For a moment they sat in silence watching the easy happiness of the others—Fleur reclining against Bill on one of the blankets near the bonfire, Mr. Weasley listening to Percy no doubt regaling his father with stories of his most recent accomplishments in the Ministry, Neville and Luna chatting animatedly at one of the empty tables.

"You're going to say no, aren't you?" said Ron, not looking at Hermione. She sighed.

"I am," she said. Hermione couldn't deny him the truth any longer. "It's not that I don't love you," she continued, "It's just..." She paused, searching for the right words.

"Just what, Hermione?" Ron said, a hard edge to his voice.

"I don't think that love is enough," she admitted quietly.

"Love is not a good enough reason to marry someone? To marry your best friend?" said Ron. "Hermione, if love isn't enough then what is?"

Hermione sighed again. "Ron, all we do is argue," she said. "We can't even have a serious conversation without one of us losing our temper. But it's not just that. We don't have the same interests and maybe not even the same values."

"Is this about me getting upset about you returning to Hogwarts?" Ron said incredulously.

"What?" said Hermione. "No. It's not about that." He was exasperating. "Once again you have not listened to what I'm trying to tell you."

"Well, excuse me for not being perfect!" Ron said angrily. Why did he always think she expected perfection?

"Ron, I understand that you're angry, but if you would just calm down—" started Hermione.

"No, you don't understand," he interrupted. "You know what? I can't do this."

Ron stood up and turned to walk away. The dam Hermione had constructed burst and a torrent of anger washed over her.

"That's right, Ron," she shouted after him, rising to her feet, "walk away! It's what you do best!"

Ron froze. He turned around slowly, eyes wide with shock.

"I came back," he said quietly.

"What do you want: a medal?" said Hermione. She felt the betrayal all over again and it fueled her rage.

"It was the locket, Hermione," Ron said.

"Oh, spare me, Ron," said Hermione. "Both Harry and I wore the locket and neither of us left, did we?"

Ron was speechless. Hermione had surprised even herself. Until the words had left her mouth, she hadn't realized she was still harboring that resentment.

"The truth is," Hermione continued as a thought occurred to her, "I don't trust you." And suddenly, she knew it was true.

"Right, then," Ron said. He turned and strode away.

Hermione leaned against the tree, dark now that the fairies had fled to another tree. She felt a searing heat in her chest and she couldn't breathe. She tried to swallow the tears burning behind her eyes, but she had a lump in her throat the size of a snitch. She slid down the trunk of the tree, head coming to rest in her arms folded over her bent knees, and dissolved into a puddle of tears.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but she felt an arm slide around her shoulders and a head rest against hers. They sat for a few moments until Hermione felt heavy with fatigue. Her eyes began to dry.

Through a curtain of red hair, Hermione heard a voice say, "He's going to be okay, you know. And so are you."

Ginny rubbed Hermione’s back consolingly, and Hermione felt something shift. She knew, somehow, that Ginny was right. Hermione also knew that things would be different. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just started down a different path. Whatever her life was going to be when she had been living on autopilot was irrevocably gone. And though her heart ached, she knew this path would lead to her heart’s true desire.


	3. August 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a crazy week over here, so thank you for your patience in waiting the extra day for this next chapter. I hope the appearance of Draco makes up for it!

She stood there, staring blankly at the supply list enclosed within her Hogwarts letter for what felt like several minutes. Hermione scarcely noticed the light jostling as shoppers made their way around her in the narrow, cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

Hermione had elected to return to Hogwarts to complete her final year, craving the normalcy of life at Hogwarts and the opportunity to lose herself amidst the stacks in the library. But now, as she set about the mundane task of shopping for school supplies, Hermione wondered whether she had made the right choice. She wasn't sure she could take her studies as seriously as she had before the war, before the day-to-day battle for survival, before the losses with which they were all still coping. What did an Ancient Runes assignment matter after hunting Horcruxes to take down the most evil wizard of their time? How could she care about Transfiguration when there was nothing she could do to transform her friendship with Ron to what it used to be before everything was confused. Hermione's inner scholar stirred, affronted at the very idea of—

A sharp bump and hurried "Excuse me" tore Hermione from her reveries. She looked up to see an older witch herding three children into a nearby shop. Hermione took a deep breath—registering somewhere in her subconscious the absence of the waffle-cone scent that once wafted from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor—and quickly identified the most efficient order in which to tackle her shopping list.

Hermione set off towards Flourish & Blotts, surprised to find that most of the shops had re-opened. A few storefronts were still boarded up, but Ollivanders wasn't one of them. As she carefully navigated the crowd of back-to-school shoppers, she thought about the last time she had seen Ollivander and was glad that his son, Gareth, had taken over the shop once Garrick decided he didn't have the heart to return. And just like that, she felt a wave of gratitude for the distraction her final year of studying would provide.

Flourish & Blotts was crowded and Hermione had a lot to do before meeting Ginny for lunch in The Leaky Cauldron. After Hermione had found the last of her school books, she decided she had a couple minutes to look around for a book on muggle folklore—she still hadn’t figured out why she had gone to Avebury. After a few minutes, she gave up. She couldn’t remember the author, or even the exact title. Maybe she would just look up a book on stone circles when she was back in the Hogwarts library.

While in line to pay for her books, Hermione picked up a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them from a towering stack near the line. Just before it was her turn, she noticed the publisher, Obscurus books. It triggered a memory—that was the same publisher of the book she had been looking for. Hermione paid for her books, stowed them discreetly in her magically expanded handbag, then headed toward the door of Obscurus Books—it was right here in Diagon Alley and they might be able to help her locate a copy of the book.

Obscurus Books, located on the south side of Diagon Alley, had a tiny office. Hermione entered through the faded green door in the front and found herself in a small room. The first thing she noticed were the the walls. Well, they were more like bookshelves, lined with hundreds of books. Some were very old, their leather binding worn and gilded letters fading; others were very new. Hermione wished she had hours to peruse the contents of these shelves.

“Can I help you?” said a middle-aged wizard sitting at one of the two desks in the room. He wore a checked city shirt beneath a tweed waistcoat with matching trousers. He looked intelligent but unkempt, graying hair standing at odd angles as though it was trying to take leave of his head. The other desk was vacant.

“I rather hope you can,” replied Hermione. “I’m looking for a book I believe you published.”

“We’ve published a great many books, young lady,” he said. Hermione suspected Obscurus Books did not get visitors often.

“I imagine you do. I’m looking for a book about muggle folklore. I’m sorry, I can’t remember the title, but it was something about which muggle beliefs are myths and which are cases of actual magic. It was really very interesting,” she said losing herself in the excitement of a good book. “There was an entire section devoted to stone circles, maybe something about summer solstice. I was in Avebury for summer solstice, and I know there was something in the book about it. I’m sorry, that’s all I remember. Does this sound like a book you’ve published?”

The wizard stared at her for a moment, then replied, “No, it does not. However, it sounds just like the kind of book we would publish. Fascinating.”

“So, you don’t have this book?” Hermione asked, hope dwindling.

“No, I’m afraid not,” the wizard said. He had picked up his quill and was scratching away on some parchment, likely taking notes from whatever muse had just whispered in his ear. Hermione walked out of the shop without another word. She didn’t have any more time to dedicate to the search of this book; it would have to wait.

The last stop on Hermione’s list was the apothecary; she needed to restock her potions supplies. She made her way through the crowded street to the apothecary. Inside, she squeezed her way past a group of witches crowding around a barrel of leeches, past a wizard scooping eel eyes out of a jar filled with a murky liquid, and finally past a small group of young Hogwarts students, probably first years, poking at a glass case full of horned slugs. She stopped at the wall opposite the door and looked searchingly over the rows of glass jars lining the shelves in front of her.

Hermione quickly found the shrivel figs and the mistletoe berries. It took her several minutes to locate the other ingredients. Finally, she had reached the last item on her list, she scanned the shelves for rose thorns. She felt a hand press gently on her lower back, but when she turned around, no one was there. Actually, the shop was nearly empty. An older wizard was handing over a handful of sickles in return for a small paper bag full of whatever he’d just purchased, and not far away from him was one other person. She locked eyes with Draco Malfoy. He was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione saw the glint of a silvery unicorn horn in his hands. She thought about his hands and felt warmth blossoming from somewhere just below her navel.

Hermione turned around determined to finish her shopping. What had she been looking for? Rose thorns. Right. But she was distracted, and despite her better judgment, she looked over her shoulder. He was still watching her. Hermione rearranged her expression in mock annoyance. He chuckled, and she turned away.

Hermione bumped into a nearby table and sent glittering beetles eyes skittering across the floor. She cursed under her breath and pulled out her wand to return the wares to their original location, non-magic handling be damned. When she turned back to the shelves, she found Draco standing next to her, the jar of rose thorns in one hand.

"Oh!" said Hermione. "That's what I was looking for," she blurted out. What was wrong with her?

"By all means, Granger, help yourself," Draco said holding a small silver scoop out in her direction.

Hermione took the scoop, fingers accidentally brushing Draco's. A bolt of electricity shot through her, igniting a fire beneath her skin. If he hadn't felt that, then surely he must feel the heat radiating from her like a furnace. She really must gain control of herself.

“Did you want me to reach in and pull out a handful for you?" Draco said, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.

"That won't be necessary, Malfoy," she retorted, trying desperately to banish thoughts of his mouth on hers. She took a small amount, then handed the scoop back to Draco. He helped himself to some before replacing the jar on a high shelf. Hermione realized he must have been replenishing his own stock when she awkwardly inserted herself. Could she be any more embarrassing? At least he would walk away now and leave her to her own self-flagellation. But he turned back toward her, studying her like some rare specimen.

"Is there something I can help you with, Malfoy?" she asked uncomfortably.

"No. I was just wondering why you were still here," he said. His words hit her like a bucket of ice water.

"Well, I would think that was obvious, Malfoy. I'm buying my potions supplies," she said bitterly. Why was she even entertaining the thoughts she’d been having of him?

"That's not what I meant, Granger," he said. He didn't have the sneer on his face she'd been so accustomed to seeing. "Take a look around the shop. Notice anything?" he asked.

"Besides the fact that it looks like we're the only ones left in here, you mean?" she answered. "Now that you mention it, that is rather odd considering how busy it was when I walked in a few minutes ago," she said trying to puzzle it out.

"So, why are you still here, when everyone else has left?" he asked.

"Because I'm not done with my shopping. I thought we just established that," she said and rolled her eyes. "Why would I leave before—" and then she realized what he was asking. "Did you cast a ward when you entered the shop?" she asked surprised.

"Yes and no," he said. "I prefer to shop without the glares and snide remarks of the general public—ex-Death-Eater and all that," he explained. "The details don't matter except that you seem impervious to it. Why is that?"

Hermione’s head was spinning. Hold on. Why was he telling her all of this? Was it possible she had misinterpreted his intention? She supposed it wouldn’t do to continue making assumptions. His grey eyes were intense, searching, and she saw the spark of something flash then fade. Her skin prickled in sudden understanding.

"Perhaps, Malfoy, I should be asking you that question," she said raising a brow. He hadn't been expecting that. He lowered his eyes, then stared at her chest. Before she could form a feeling about it, he spoke.

"If I were you, Granger, I would keep this," he stepped closer, traced his finger down one side of the golden chain and touched the ring lightly, "out of sight." And then he lifted the ring, pressed it against the base of her throat, released it and let it slide beneath her blouse. Her breath caught, lips parted to speak words that wouldn't come. The cool metal burned a path down her chest and rested between her breasts.

For a moment, he looked at the place where he knew the ring had settled, then drew his eyes up to hers. They were inches apart and she had to tilt her head back to look up into his eyes. She breathed in his scent, something woodsy that made her think of fresh cut grass. Godric help her, a feeling of euphoria was rushing toward her like the incoming tide making her feel light-headed. And suddenly the spell was broken, tide ebbing before it had reached her.

"I... thank you... I have to go," she said, turning away before he could say anything else. She left everything behind and rushed into the crowd outside. Hermione found an empty stoop near the cauldron shop and leaned against the cool stone wall. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. The ghost of a kiss brushed her lips. Merlin’s beard, what had come over her? She felt wildly out of control, but also more alive than she ever had.

Hermione arrived at The Leaky Cauldron before Ginny and was able to find a table in a remote corner. By the time Ginny had arrived, the lunch crowd had swelled, and Ginny had to push her way past several witches and wizards to reach the chair opposite Hermione. She let her parcels drop to the floor and collapsed in the empty seat with a huff.

“If I have to hear one more first-year whinge about how first years never make the house Quidditch team, I’m going to ban the lot of them from tryouts this year!” said Ginny.

“Been spending time in Quality Quidditch Supplies?” asked Hermione smiling.

“It’s not funny. And I’m starving!” replied Ginny. They ordered food and drinks.

"So, I noticed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is open again," said Hermione. Ginny sighed heavily, smile fading from her face.

"It is," Ginny replied. "George opened it up at the beginning of the month. He says it's prime time for Hogwarts students and since the Skiving Snackbox is a top seller..."Ginny looked like she was far away. Finally, she said, "He's convinced Fred would have wanted it this way." Ginny's eyes glistened with tears.

"Oh, Ginny," said Hermione patting Ginny's hand, "it's a lovely way for him to honor Fred's memory."

Ginny smiled, building up a dam against the sadness that had threatened, but failed, to spill over.

"Yes, well," Ginny said, regaining her composure, "he's hoping to find a partner to help him run the shop. He has his hands full, you know."

"He should think about inviting Ron to join him," said Hermione.

"Why in Godric's name would he do that?" said Ginny. "All Ron does is talk about being an Auror. Bit annoying really."

"I know," said Hermione. "But in a year or two, who knows? Ron might surprise everyone—it would be ideal for George and the shop. I just have this feeling... What?" Hermione said in response to Ginny's amused snort.

"You have a feeling?" said Ginny. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?"

"If you must know," said Hermione, "I saw it in a dream."

"Oh, well, since you put it that way," said Ginny.

"Okay. I know how it sounds. But it was so real; it was almost like...like a memory."

Just then, their food arrived.

"It's about time," said Ginny. "I could eat a hippogriff!" For a few moments they ate in silence.

So,” said Ginny, the glint in her eyes returning, “are you finally going to tell me what’s been going on with you? You owe me after I saved your arse at dinner last month.”

Hermione supposed she was right. It was long overdue and Hermione desperately needed to talk to someone about all of it.

“Fair enough,” said Hermione. “Let me think. I suppose I should start at Midsummer’s Eve.”

It all came out in a torrent of words. Hermione explained how she had woken up in the stone circle; she mentioned the book she had been searching for but couldn't find. She revealed the whole truth about Ron, starting with the decline of their relationship since June and ending with the fight at Harry's birthday party.

"That's not everything, though, is it?" asked Ginny perceptively.

Hermione shook her head and took a deep breath. Then, she told her about Draco, about the vision and, she hated to admit it, the feelings. Ginny looked at her like she'd grown two heads, but she didn't say anything. So, Hermione told her about what had just happened in the apothecary. When she finished her story, and Ginny sat wide-eyed, she pulled the emerald ring out from beneath her blouse.

"Hermione," said Ginny sounding as if Hermione was about to step on a snake, "where did you get that?"

"I can't remember, actually," said Hermione. She could practically hear the alarm bells sounding in Ginny's mind.

"And yet you are still wearing it?" said Ginny sounding very calm. "Don't you think that it might be dangerous?" Hermione knew she must have been thinking of the locket, of Tom Riddle's diary, of the opal necklace that had cursed Katie Bell.

"Yes, I have thought about it. Give me some credit, Ginny," said Hermione, though not unkindly. "I wore that locket, and this doesn't feel dark like that did. I think I would recognize if the ring were cursed or enchanted."

"Fair enough," said Ginny, "but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you had someone in the Ministry look at that."

"Ginny, I really don't think that's necessary," said Hermione.

"I know," said Ginny, "but how about this? Harry deals with this kind of stuff in the Auror Office. He could have someone there check it thoroughly, just to be absolutely sure it's fine."

Ginny was giving her an unrelenting stare and Hermione knew she was fighting a losing battle. Hermione was reluctant to part with the necklace. And then she realized that this very attachment could be a good reason to have it inspected. Better safe than sorry, she supposed.

"Fine," said Hermione. "If it will give you peace of mind and you promise not to pester me about it again after that, I will take it in myself when I head back to the Ministry tomorrow."

Ginny smiled, "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" she said.

***

It was three days before Hermione was supposed to catch the train to Hogwarts and she still hadn’t gotten the necklace back. She had been told that they hadn’t found anything yet and that she should expect it soon, but Hermione didn’t have time to wait. She suspected Harry had something to do with the delays—probably insisting it be double- and triple-checked not only for common enchantments but also for rare and obscure curses.

Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands. And that is how she found herself striding out of the lifts on the second floor of the Ministry and colliding with Ron Weasley. He fell, rather ungracefully, to the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" said Hermione offering a hand to help Ron to his feet.

Ron grunted and rose to his feet, ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand. Her hand fell along with her hopes that they might re-establish their friendship.

"Instead of being sorry," said Ron curtly, "you could try watching where you're going. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Not that it's any of your business," replied Hermione matching his tone, "but I was having an item inspected. I'm here to pick it up from..." Bollocks! She had forgotten his name again. Jacob, no, James—no, she'd remember that—Jasper?

"Jason!" she exclaimed in triumph. Why could she never remember his name?

"You mean Kyle?" said Ron.

"No, I don't," said Hermione. Why did he always try to correct her? It was infuriating.

"There's nothing wrong with the ring, you know," said Ron. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised that Ron knew about it. "The only thing that I find odd is that you've been wearing some ring from who-knows-where," he added.

"If there's nothing wrong with it, then I don't see why that matters," said Hermione. "Besides, it's nothing to do with you."

Ron's face was turning red, indicating that he had every intention of making it about him.

"Hermione!" said Harry, emerging from a door down the corridor. He had impeccable timing, and Hermione couldn't figure out how he always managed it.

Hermione gave Ron a tight smile, then walked past him with a brisk, "Goodbye, Ronald." She didn't turn back to see whether he had left.

"Bad luck running into Ron," said Harry. "He's been in a right state about this ring, considering, you know, you wouldn't accept one from him."

"He didn't exactly offer one, though, did he?" said Hermione.

"Er, technically, no. But I'm not going to tell him that, am I?" said Harry. "Anyway, you can take the ring home with you today. There's nothing wrong with it."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Harry," said Hermione smiling.

They entered a small office with a desk in one corner, a large stainless steel table in the center of the room, and shelves lined with countless items, each suspended in a blue sphere.

"Afternoon, Hermione," greeted a young wizard only a few years older than she and Harry.

"Hello, Ja—Jason," said Hermione. She had almost called him Jackson.

Jason summoned a blue sphere and then released the necklace into his upturned palm.

"Good news: the ring is safe to wear," said Jason. "There are no curses, hexes, enchantments, or spells of any kind cast on this ring."

Hermione smiled and turned to Harry, "I told you there was nothing weird about it."

"Actually," corrected Jason and Hermione frowned, "I did want to share two noteworthy observations. First," he lifted the ring from his hand and turned it for Hermione to see, "you'll notice small markings just here," he indicated to a spot on the inside of the band, just under the stones.

"Hmm," said Hermione. "It almost looks like—"

"—a serial number of sorts," Jason finished. "I think, though I can't be certain, that this may be goblin-made. Did they say anything to you about it when you went into Gringotts?" he asked.

"I only went to Gringotts today, and I wasn't wearing the ring, obviously," said Hermione.

"Just as well," said Jason. "You know how they are about anything they've made."

"And the other thing?" said Hermione.

"Right," said Jason as if he'd just remembered. "I said the stone was free from spells and such, but," he paused dramatically, "it does emit a small amount of magic. We did extensive testing on the effects of wearing it with several staff members and didn't notice anything different. It's most likely just the stone's natural properties—genuine emerald—and stones have been known to carry their own magic. Have you noticed anything?"

"I can't say that I have," said Hermione. Jason handed her the necklace.

"Wear it well," he said. She put it back on immediately and thanked Jason before leaving with Harry. While she waited for the lift, she turned to hug Harry.

"Thank you," she said. "I know I protested, and nothing turned up, but I do feel much better about wearing this now, and I learned something interesting," she laughed, and Harry just smiled.

"Hermione, you're practically family," said Harry. We look out for each other, always have, always will. Have a safe trip to Hogwarts. I’d say I’d write, but we both know that won’t happen." They laughed and the doors to the lift slid open. Hermione offered a quick wave of goodbye as she left Harry behind.

***

Hermione had arrived at King’s Cross Station early, wanting to avoid the crowds. Since the war ended, she had been on the receiving end of more admiring stares and hushed comments than she cared for; she had even been asked for an autograph a few times. Hermione didn’t believe she was any more a war heroine than any other witch or wizard that fought against Voldemort.

She had been able to slip through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters unnoticed and had quickly made her way to a compartment at the far end of the Hogwarts Express. She closed the door behind her and pulled the shades to discourage other students from joining her and then breathed a sigh of relief. Hermione pulled a worn book out of her bag and settled in for a good read.

Just as she was nearing the end of a gripping chapter, the door slid open. Hermione and Draco wore matching expressions of surprise.

“I didn’t realize this compartment was occupied,” said Draco.

“Are you trying to hide, too?” Hermione asked surprising herself with the bluntness of the question. She set her book down and looked at Draco with interest. Hermione noticed him glance at the cover of her book.

“Too?” said Draco. He closed the compartment door behind him, and Hermione's pulse quickened. “What reason could you possibly have to hide? You, Granger, are the wizarding world’s sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me gag, Malfoy,” she said, and he smirked. “I’m no one’s sweetheart.” Hermione thought she saw a flicker of something break through Draco’s expression. "And besides, I don't care for the attention."

"Don't you?" he said. "I've seen your picture in the papers several times this summer."

"Have you?" said Hermione. "I've only made the front page once."

"It’s called hyperbole, Granger. I haven't been combing through the Prophet saving clippings of your journey with post-war fame," drawled Draco.

"Of course not," said Hermione, though she wasn’t entirely sure it was true. How curious. "Though, for someone who is averse to attention himself, I'm surprised you decided to return to Hogwarts."

"It was decided for me," he said to Hermione's surprise. "It seems that being a good citizen includes completing my education. It's not enough that I've spent the majority of the summer repairing the castle. Then again," his expression turned dark, "there may never be enough I can do to make up for what I've done."

Hermione just stared at him. Draco stared back, daring her to confirm what must be his worst belief about himself.

"Surely, you don't believe that after what you did for us that day," said Hermione softly.

"And what of the things I didn't do, Granger?" he said taking a step toward her and lowering his voice. "Are you so willing to forgive me for being a silent witness..." he couldn't finish, but Hermione knew what he had been about to say. She remembered him standing helplessly in the room while Bellatrix tortured her. She rubbed her forearm reflexively, the word marking her in a whisper of pale white scar tissue.

She didn't know what made her do it, but she stood up and placed her hands on his arms in a gesture that was meant to comfort—she knew as well as he did that there was nothing he could have done to stop his aunt. Hermione waited for Draco to shake her off, but he only stood there, staring at the floor, all bravado gone.

"Yes," Hermione said answering his question. He looked into her eyes, and she felt him searching her mind for the truth of it. She locked her eyes on his and brought it forward for him to see. Acquitted, forgiven, desired. She closed her eyes, and her mind slammed shut against his. She hadn't meant to reveal that. She felt flushed and dropped her hands. It was clear they had both revealed more than either had intended.

Draco stepped forward closing the space between them. She felt his fingers slide through her hair as he pulled her close. His lips brushed against her ear as he murmured, "If you knew everything, you wouldn't be so quick to forgive."

His breath was hot against her skin, and she felt his words ripple through her body. Hermione lifted a hand and rested it on his chest; she could feel his heart pounding a rhythm against her hand.

"If you knew everything," he continued, "you wouldn't feel the need to shut me out." She looked up at him then, wondering if he could possibly mean it.

Just then the compartment door slid open. "You will never believe—" started Ginny.

Draco took his time untangling his hand from Hermione’s hair, running a thumb along her jaw as he pulled away from her. The corners of his mouth lifted fractionally in a muted smile, eyes never leaving hers until he turned to face Ginny.

"Weasley," he said in greeting.

"Malfoy," Ginny shot back, eyes narrowed. "You had better find a compartment before they start filling up. I assume you got here early to avoid the crowds or was it just to harass our Hermione, here?"

"Ginny!" Hermione had finally found her voice.

"Thanks for the tip, Weasley," Draco replied, ignoring her accusation. He turned and nodded at Hermione in goodbye, "Granger." He walked out of the compartment, leaving the two girls standing in silence.

Ginny closed the compartment door.

"I had no idea— Ginny started, eyes wide.

"It's fine, Ginny. It's not like we had planned some secret rendezvous," said Hermione, blushing furiously at the idea. "Honestly, I think he was surprised to see me."

"Pleasantly surprised by the looks of it," retorted Ginny, smirking.

Hermione conceded Ginny's observation with an ungracious expression, then turned back to her seat near the window.

"So," said Hermione, "what is it that I won't believe?"

Ginny's face split into a mischievous grin as she sat across from Hermione, eyes glittering. Hermione tucked away the memory of her encounter with Draco for later inspection. For now, she wanted to simply enjoy her last ride to Hogwarts with her friends. Hermione knew she had to be present for the small joys in life; these moments were the stars that lit her way when night inevitably fell. She smiled and settled in to listen to Ginny's story.


	4. September 1998

By the time Hermione exited the train at Hogsmeade station, most of the students were well on their way to the castle. The prefects were making their last sweep through the train to round up any dawdlers. Hermione had told the others go ahead, but Ginny, Neville, and Luna insisted on waiting with her, and so the four of them made their way to the thestral-drawn carriages. Hermione was displeased to discover she was able to see them, even from a distance their skeletal bodies and blank milky eyes were disturbing and she was thankful that she hadn’t been able to see the creatures when they had ridden them to the Ministry in their fifth year. She shivered involuntarily.

Here and there small groups of sixth and seventh year students strolled away from the platform, chatting amicably under the glow of the lanterns. A group of Slytherins was just ahead, and Hermione watched as Pansy Parkinson boarded a carriage followed by the Daphne and Astoria Greengrass and a few others that must have been the younger girl’s friends. Astoria cast a wistful glance at Draco before she boarded, but Draco, Hermione now saw, didn’t notice because he had been watching Hermione as his own friends—Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott—boarded the next carriage. Finally, his friends pulled him into their carriage and shut the door.

“What was that about?” said Neville, who must have seen Draco staring in their direction. “Think he’s wondering if he can off one of us before we arrive at the castle?”

“Oh, come off it, Neville,” said Ginny. “Do you really think McGonagall would have allowed him to come back if she thought he would try something? Besides, Harry thinks that he might actually have had a change of heart, assuming, of course, he has one.” Ginny cast a sidelong glance at Hermione and shrugged unable to resist a cheap shot at Malfoy.

“Well, if Harry thinks he’s okay,” said Neville, still sounding doubtful.

They reached the carriage and boarded, ready to reach the Great Hall and enjoy the start-of-term feast. The castle may not have been completely restored, but some traditions were worth maintaining even in the face of change. Perhaps, especially in those times.

The Great Hall looked as majestic as ever with its enchanted ceiling revealing a starry night sky and hundreds of floating candles. Hermione had hardly heard a word of the sorting hat’s song, nor was she aware of which first years were sorted into which houses. Hermione had looked around the room and was surprised to see that only a few Slytherins sat with Draco at the end of their house table, while the rest took turns either pointedly ignoring him or throwing glares his way. At first, Hermione was confused, but then she became angry. Had he been sitting at the Hufflepuff table things might have been different, but Hermione supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by this attitude from the Slytherins.

Then, she scolded herself for falling prey to the old stereotypes. She would have to remember that people were so much more complicated than the way they were often categorized and portrayed by outsiders.

When Pansy turned to look at Hermione, she realized she had been staring and quickly turned her attention to the table in front of her which had just been loaded with tureens of soup and countless platters of food. The feast finished off with an assortment of trifles, puddings, and even souffle—one of Hermione’s favorite desserts. She thought of trips to France with her parents and quickly banished the thought.

When everyone was beginning to feel full and sleepy, the tables cleared.

“A few final words before you are all off to your dormitories,” said McGonagall, a hush falling quickly through the Great Hall. “This year, we return to Hogwarts without some of our classmates and colleagues.” Everywhere students looked left and right, taking note of the empty seats where friends once sat. McGonagall stood in silence for a few moments.

“In honor of those who have fallen,” McGonagall finally continued, “in consideration for those who are left behind, and for the benefit of those who will come after, every single one of you will be expected to exhibit a level of respect for others that has rarely been seen at Hogwarts, or, indeed, in the wizarding world in recent years. This war was fueled by a belief that some of our kind are inherently better than others, and I’m afraid it’s an attitude we’ve too often overlooked in the name of Hogwarts house rivalries.”

A low rumble arose as people began to speculate about where McGonagall was going with this speech.

“The houses will not be disassembled,” McGonagall pre-empted with a look that suppressed further discussion. “Houses will still sit in classes together, they will still retire to their own common rooms, they will still earn and lose house points.” There was a collective sigh of relief.

“However,” McGonagall continued, “when you are in this hall, you are strongly encouraged to leave your house tables and sit with students from other houses. And, I need hardly mention that bullying of any kind will not be tolerated. Tomorrow, term begins as usual. So, Prefects, please lead your houses to your dormitories. Eighth years, please meet me in the Entrance Hall.”

The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of emotional outbursts as students began to make their way out. Hermione observed the spectrum as she slowly made her way toward the doors. A couple of Ravenclaws could be seen with their arms around friends who were shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Some Gryffindors were in heated debate as to whether or not they were really expected to "respect the Slytherin cowards that had disappeared" during the final battle at Hogwarts. And a few Hufflepuffs could be heard laughing at how silly it was that anyone actually needed to be told to be accepting of others. The Slytherins were mostly quiet.

When they had all gathered in the Entrance Hall, McGonagall led the group of Eighth Years through a door Hermione had never noticed. They climbed a flight of stairs, then walked down the corridor until they faced a pair of suits of armor whose outstretched arms caused their pollaxes to form a cross in the space between them.

"In veritas dolor," McGonagall said to the suits of armor, and they pulled their weapons away.

McGonagall walked through the open space between them. They all looked at each other, silently questioning whether their peers had known about this. The surprised expressions were answer enough and they followed McGonagall through the space one by one.

On the other side of the wall was a cavernous room.

“This,” McGonagall told them, “will be your primary common room.”

McGonagall stood quietly allowing them to take in their surroundings. To their right was a fireplace large enough for several students to stand quite comfortably. Right now, a fire blazed, warming the expansive room. Multiple seating areas were clustered in anticipation of conversation. Large windows lined the wall on the right side of the room. The left side of the room was divided up into more intimate spaces—multiple alcoves where students could read or study or gossip, an intimate dining space with a table long enough to seat every one of them, and above all of that a loft which likely had additional seating space.

McGonagall continued, "You will find that you are all welcome to return to your house common rooms should you desire on occasion to join your house, but you are encouraged to spend time together in this room. It is my sincerest hope that you will lead the rest of students by example in your ability to overcome your past and build new friendships."

"Beyond the far door," McGonagall pressed on, "you will find private apartments. This space has often been used to host Hogwarts guests, but as you are all of age, I have seen fit to allow you to have individual living spaces while you complete your final year. They are small, but I think you will find it suitable."

McGonagall waved her wand and an old-fashioned key appeared before each student. "The key in front of you will guide you to your room. Miss Granger, if I could speak to you for a moment before you retire. The rest of you may settle in, and don't forget you are expected in class first thing in the morning. You will find your course schedules in your rooms. Goodnight."

Each person took hold of their key and walked toward the far door. McGonagall led Hermione to one of the small alcoves for a more private conversation. There were small built-in benches and fluffy pillows, but the two remained standing.

What is it, Professor?" asked Hermione. McGonagall looked at her kindly.

"It's about the Head Girl position," said McGonagall, "I know you must have been hoping for it, and I will be the first to say that no one deserves it more. However, after everything that's happened, I rather thought you could do with some time to focus on yourself."

"I...yes...it's very thoughtful, Professor," said Hermione surprised. "It had crossed my mind and, of course, I would have been honored to be Head Girl. But, if I'm honest with myself, it's a bit of a relief to step back and focus solely on my studies, especially with N.E.W.T.s this year. I will have a rigorous study schedule, of course, and this will give me more time to devote to my school work. Thank you, Professor. Please don't think any more on it. I'm fine, really."

"That's my girl," McGonagall said in a motherly way that made Hermione's heart ache. "Best be on your way." McGonagall gestured to the key that was floating lazily near Hermione, then she left.

As soon as Hermione took hold of the key, it pulled her toward the door at the back of the common room, leading her, it seemed, to her dormitory. She opened the door to find herself in a narrow corridor. On one side, windows were spaced evenly. Hermione peered outside trying to get a bearing on where they were, but the ground beneath the sky was blanketed in darkness. On the other wall was an opening to a spiral staircase and beyond that, five doors.

The key tugged her toward the spiral staircase. She climbed up, passing one archway, and then pulled through the next. She was led down a hall that looked identical to the ones below. When she reached the second to last door, the door swung open. Hermione briefly wondered who her neighbors were.

When Hermione entered, she was surprised to hear a fire crackling. She closed the door behind her and the room glowed with the soft flickering light of the fire. Hermione saw the small fireplace on the wall just to the left of the door. The room was cozy with a small couch and coffee table, a secretary desk and bookshelf, and even a tiny kitchenette with a counter that opened to the main room.

Hermione walked through the far door in the corner and found a small bedroom. Most of the room was taken up by the full-size four-poster bed in the center, heavy crimson curtains waiting to be pulled to a close. At the foot of the bed was a red velvet chaise lounge. There was a small window with three cushions laid on the stone ledge. Hermione saw her luggage had been unpacked and clothes stowed neatly in the wardrobe.

It was late and Hermione was tired, so she readied herself for bed. She was pleased to discover a small bathroom, where she was able to wash up. The thought of a hot shower was tempting, but, in the end, she was simply too exhausted. She climbed beneath the heavy blankets, relishing in the warm comfort of the bed, and fell quickly to sleep. It was good to be home.

~~~

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,_   
_Lavender's green,_   
_When you are king, dilly dilly,_   
_I shall be queen_

_Who told you so, dilly dilly,_   
_Who told you so?_   
_'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,_   
_That told me so_

_Hermione sang quietly as she rocked her sleeping baby. She felt a pure contentment she had never known as she stroked the cheek of the fair-skinned baby in her arms. The late afternoon sun cast a golden dappled light on the walls as it shone through the trees and into the nursery window. She pulled off the baby's cap and kissed the downy white hair covering the infant’s head._

_“There you are, love,” said a low voice. She looked up to see him leaning casually against the door frame, hands in the pockets of finely tailored gray wool trousers. The sleeves of his crisp, white shirt were rolled up revealing muscular forearms. The top button was undone, and Hermione smiled in response to the look of love on his face, a lock of pale blonde hair falling away from the perfectly coiffed mane._

_“What is that song?” he asked, amusement in his voice. “I’ve never heard it.”_

_“You wouldn’t have,” she answered softly. “It’s a muggle lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me.”_

~~~

Hermione opened her eyes and felt hot tears spilling down her face, releasing a mingled joy and sadness. The room was still dark and she knew she’d only been asleep for a couple hours. She shooed away further thoughts before they could fully wake her, then closed her eyes, rolled over and with a heavy sigh, fell back to sleep.

~~~

_Hermione was staring at the emerald ring nestled securely in the velvet cushion of the ring box. The diamond halo glittered in the light, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as she heard him speaking to her._

_“I noticed you looking at it that day in the antique shop, and I… I thought you should have this. I know things haven’t been great between us, but I hope you know I love you. The shop owner said that emeralds are the ‘stone of successful love’ and that it might bring harmony to our relationship. Anyway, happy anniversary,” Ron’s voice finished._

_“Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “It’s beautiful.” She slipped the ring on her right hand, then reached across the table and put her hand on his._

_“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Hermione said struck by a sudden urge to confess, “I’ve been offered a position as Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” said Hermione unsure of the effect the words would have on her husband and hating that she felt anxious about sharing news that should only be exciting. She had planned to wait until after their anniversary dinner, but suddenly it felt dishonest to wait._

_“Oh?” said Ron. “And how much more of your time is that going to require?”_

_“What?” said Hermione, the truce of the previous moment evaporating. “Not any more than my current position. What does that have to do with anything?”_

_“As your husband, I would think that’d be obvious,” said Ron, sounding irritated. He pulled his hand away from hers._

_“Enlighten me,” said Hermione. Hadn’t he just said he wanted things to be different? Or was he hoping that a ring would magically fix things without requiring any effort from him? “On second thought: don’t. Would it kill you to be happy for me just once?” she pleaded, desperately hoping he would come around. She missed her best friend; the sad truth was they hadn’t been friends in a very long time despite, or maybe because of, their marriage._

_“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” said Ron glaring at her. This was more than Hermione could stand, and even as her heart broke, she felt a fury erupt in the face of his relentless criticism._

_“Langlock!” Hermione shouted so that her intention was clear, then turned to walk away. Ron could fumble with non-verbal magic to unstick his offending tongue from the roof of his mouth; she was done._

~~~

_Hermione stood in front of the stones. A bonfire blazed in the small circle on the other side of the field. Women with wreaths in their hair danced circles around the fire, and she could hear the faint sounds of music and singing. Hermione stood beneath the starry night sky wishing she could fix things with Ron, wishing for harmony and companionship in her marriage. She touched the emerald ring she now wore on the chain she had taken from one of her mother’s old necklaces. Where had things gone wrong?_

_She looked up at the stars that shone brightly now that the sun’s light had finally faded from the sky, hoping to find answers scrawled in the constellations. Hermione gripped her concealed wand and brought them to life for her own viewing pleasure, as only she would see it. She smiled as a large dragon snaked through the sky breathing a sparkling blue fire._

~~~

_“Guess what? Shaklebolt is endorsing me to run for Minister of Magic! He says no one will run against me,” Hermione shouted as her husband walked through the front door, hardly able to contain her excitement._

_“I hate to say I told you so...” he smirked, quickly closing the distance between them. Hermione knew perfectly well that he loved being right as much as she did. He wrapped his arms around her, locking her in a firm embrace and kissed her with a passion that took her breath away, even after all these years._

_She pulled her head back after a moment. “Aren’t you at all worried about the demands that come with the title?” she looked at him searchingly but could find nothing but pride in his expression. And then there was something else._

_“Love, out there you may be Minister of Magic, but here...” he lifted her, pulling her legs around his waist, “here you are mine, and so long as I have you, nothing else matters.” He pressed her back against the wall. “Your success is my success,” he kissed her neck, “your happiness is my happiness.” He playfully bit her earlobe. “Let me show you,” he growled in her ear. She could already feel his growing excitement._

_She kissed him hard, biting his lip as his hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt and ripped away the tiny bit of lace separating him from her increasingly wet slit. He parted her with a finger and finding her ready, unzipped his trousers and deftly freed his member. Before he could find his way inside her, she pulled back and reached down to pull his cock between them. She pressed hard against him letting him slide between her slippery folds. For a moment, she moved slowly against him, stimulating the tiny bundle of nerves at her center, arching her back as she moved ever closer to climax. He ripped her shirt open and freed one breast from its lacy confines, covering it quickly with his mouth as he licked and pulled at her erect nipple. When her body ached with hunger, she lifted up, releasing him and thrust down onto his cock, pleasure cresting as he filled every centimeter of her._

_She cried out, waking just as her body shook with the echo of their desire. Hot fluid flowed between her legs as she pulsed and shuddered in the wake of Draco's cock._

_Outside the window, the first golden rays of the sun were breaking over the horizon. Hermione lay in bed, spent, confused, exhilarated. What she really needed was a cold shower and an early start. She couldn't risk running into Draco, certain that one look would reveal everything._

_The only problem was, she couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him. She felt pulled toward him like a key trying to find its way home, and she decided that she would have to find a way to close the distance between them in her waking life._

_And, then, instead of taking a cold shower, she turned the dial as hot as she could stand it, purging her fear of rejection, her false doubts about her motivation to break up with Ron, and her inner debate about her increasingly strong feelings toward a man she was sure had despised her as a boy. She closed her eyes and let the hot water mark her body in angry pink streaks, her emotions tempering in the scalding water. She felt the emerald ring burn against her left breast and her irrational fears turned to ash._

***

Hermione was the first one at the breakfast table. She was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the Gryffindors left her to eat in peace, and she suspected Ginny had something to do with it. A couple of first-year girls did stop by to say good morning and practically fainted when Hermione said hello and asked them how they were enjoying Hogwarts so far. Hermione imagined this was just a small taste of what Harry had to endure all those years as The Boy Who Lived.

Ginny sat next to her, looking bright-eyed and ready to conquer the world.

“Good morning!” said Ginny.

“Since when are you a morning person?” said Hermione.

“Let’s just say I had a good night’s sleep,” said Ginny cryptically. “You’re here bright and early. Should I assume that you also slept well?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, trying to work out what Ginny meant. “Assume what you like,” said Hermione, finally smiling.

When the owls came swooping through the Great Hall with the mail, Hermione wasn't expecting a large parcel to be dropped in front of her. Ginny was already tearing open a letter, and Hermione was pleased to find that at least Harry was making an effort to write to Ginny.

Hermione read a small note attached to her own parcel.

_"You left these behind in the apothecary. Thought you might need them. Can't have you making excuses about why your marks aren't as good as mine._

_-D"_

She opened the package to find the potions ingredients she had left behind the day she'd run into Draco in Diagon Alley. She hadn't made it back, figuring she could borrow from Slughorn's stores until she could make it to Hogsmeade. This was unexpected, and...and thoughtful. Maybe Draco really had changed. She hadn’t been sure despite the dreams she’d been having.

Hermione searched the room for him. She found him at the Slytherin table, his back toward her, and she felt her face crumple in disappointment. Pansy caught the look and raised a brow in Hermione's direction. Hermione burned with embarrassment and looked away, wondering why Pansy hadn't given her the usual sneer.

Just then her copy of the Daily Prophet dropped in front of her. Hermione was relieved for the distraction and interested in hearing what was going on beyond the walls of Hogwarts. She unfurled the paper and read the headline: “Ministry Assigns Harry Potter to Help Catch Rogue Death Eaters.” Hermione knew Harry would be thrilled to assist on the case, and more than capable. She would have to remember to write him a note of congratulations. At least the Prophet was helping her keep tabs on her friend, and she set the paper down, missing her best friends, but nevertheless excited to begin her studies.

In Transfiguration, they began immediately working on human transfiguration. They started with a simple spell to change hair color. Hermione was one of the few who was thrilled about it because, despite the fact that everyone wanted to be able to do it, most were frightened of the many things that could go wrong while they were learning it. At the end of class, McGonagall had Hermione and a handful of Ravenclaws stand at the front showcasing hair in a spectrum of colors. Morag McDougall’s bubblegum pink hair made Hermione think of Tonks, and then Teddy, who would grow up without parents. She thought of how awful it was to be without parents even at her age, and by the time she left class, her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

After that, she had Advanced Arithmancy, which left her with more homework than she’d ever had before. She was grateful that her schedule included some free periods during the week—she was going to need it to stay on top of this course load and study for N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione was anxious to get started on her homework by the time she arrived for double Potions with the Slytherins that afternoon. She took a seat in the back of the room and started on some reading she had to do.

The class was nearly full by the time Professor Slughorn arrived. Neville had chosen a seat next to Dean Thomas, and the seat next to Hermione remained vacant, which was what she preferred these days.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Slughorn greeted her as if she were a dear friend he hadn't seen in ages. "I'm so pleased to see you finishing your education here at Hogwarts, though I daresay we could all learn a thing or two from you!"

"Oh, well, thank you, Professor," said Hermione. "I'm delighted to be back.” She sincerely hoped he did not invite her to one of his Slug Club gatherings. Surely he wouldn’t keep up that practice after everything.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said Slughorn looking past Hermione, jovial tone flattened in obvious distaste, “please take a seat, we will begin class momentarily.”

Slughorn turned quickly, trying, Hermione suspected, to put as much distance as possible between himself and his notorious student. Hermione frowned, hoping that at least the teachers would be above this kind of prejudice, especially the Slytherin Head of House, but she supposed even they were human. And, Slughorn, in particular, was known for collecting students who had the potential to elevate his status by association while shunning those who might cast a shadow over him. She sighed in resignation, knowing there was little she could do to sway his opinion.

Draco sat in an empty chair in front of her, next to Theo Nott who had arrived not long after Hermione.

Slughorn welcomed the class and explained the expectations for his N.E.W.T.s students.

“For your first task,” Slughorn explained, “we will be replenishing Madam Pomfrey’s stock of healing potions. As you might imagine, her stores were greatly depleted after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

A few Gryffindors turned to glare at the Slytherins, but Slughorn pretended not to notice. Hermione bristled and shot a reproving look in their direction, quelling any further nastiness.

“You can work by yourself or with one other person,” he continued, “depending on the difficulty of the potion. No two people or groups will work on the same draught. It is acceptable to select something simple as we need a variety of potions, but if that is the case, you will need to select two. Your marks will be based on the difficulty and quality of your potions. Please select something from the list.”

Slughorn waved his wand and a list of healing potions appeared on the board behind him. “Extra credit for anyone who brews a healing potion that is not on this list but would be beneficial for Madam Pomfrey’s inventory. Please clear all selections with me before you begin your work.”

By the time Hermione had finished deliberating, the list on the board had shrunk significantly.

“Professor,” said Hermione, “I’d like to brew a potion for dreamless sleep.”

“That one’s not on the list,” he replied, “but I believe Madam Pomfrey would find that terribly useful these days. You will receive extra credit marks for that one, and I will also allow you to keep a vial for yourself.”

He smiled sympathetically, likely imagining that she, like many others, suffered from crippling nightmares. But between the therapy sessions she’d had over the summer and the journaling she’d done, and something else she couldn’t quite account for, the nightmares had grown few and far between. Besides, Hermione didn’t like the idea of having a dreamless sleep; she would chance the occasional nightmare to continue having the vivid dreams she’d been experiencing. Still, Hermione figured it was always better to have and not need than to need and not have.

“Thank you, Professor,” she finally said. “I’m certain I could put it to good use.”

***

Hermione rushed through dinner, anxious to get to work. Despite the multitude of workspaces in her current living quarters, Hermione decided that tonight, she would work in the library. She had been aching to get back, to breathe in the smell of old books, to lose herself in the labyrinth of bookshelves whose old tomes whispered of secrets they might tell, to work in the silence Madam Pince commanded.

“Miss Granger,” said Madam Pince with a small smile that was almost welcoming.

“Good evening, Madam Pince,” said Hermione, making her way to a table in a lost corner of the library where she preferred to work. She passed a couple students on her way, but few ever wandered the depths of the library as she did. Somehow the library had been unscathed in the war and Hermione was grateful.

She stopped when her usual table came into view; someone was already sitting there. There was Draco scratching away on his parchment, several books open in front of him. He didn’t even notice her as she stalked toward him.

“That’s my table,” she said when she finally stood across him one hand on her hip.

“I know,” he said, scrawling the rest of his sentence before looking up at her. How did he know? It was the first time they’d been back in over a year. “It’s big enough for the two of us,” he said gesturing to the empty table space beside him.

Hermione sat. “Aren’t you worried about what people might say if they see us together?”

“Granger, if I worried about what people were saying, I’d never have a moment to think about anything else. Besides, no one will notice us here.”

She wondered how he could be so sure about that.

“Wards,” he said, picking up his quill again.

“Malfoy!” she said, “What if someone needs a book from this section? You know Madam Pince would be furious if she found out.” She pulled out her wand, considering removing the wards.

“She’s not going to find out. And tell me, honestly, how many times have you seen anyone come back here?”

She couldn’t recall the last time.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, responding to her silence. “The wards are just a precaution. Let it go, Granger.” And he went back to his parchment. She reluctantly stowed her wand and sat.

She pulled out her Arithmancy books, and they worked in companionable silence for a long time.

“You might want to double-check that last line,” said Draco.

“What? There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said automatically. Then frowned and checked anyway.

“I think you meant to use this number,” he said pointing to a spot on the complex number chart in front of her.

“Oh,” she said flustered. He was right. She used her wand to remove the last line, then re-wrote it correctly. “Thank you,” she said.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he said watching her.

“Surprised?” she said, feeling slightly embarrassed, “Oh, it’s just… I’m not used to having someone correct my work.”

He laughed and she gave him a look meant to stop him before he could say anything mean, but not entirely untrue, about Harry or Ron. She put down her quill.

“Malfoy, why are you being nice to me?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. That sat in a silent stalemate. Malfoy’s laughter finally broke the silence.

“You are stubborn, Granger,” he said and she lifted her chin defiantly. He laughed harder. “Alright, you win. In reward, I will admit one thing: my ward only repels those who would ...prefer not to be in my presence. It’s quite interesting, actually.” He looked at her, pointedly, and she felt herself blush.

“I suspected as much in the apothecary,” she said softly. “Which reminds me. Thank you for the parcel. You really shouldn’t have.”

“I was going to give it to you yesterday when I saw you on the train, but we were interrupted… much to my dismay,” he said. She thought about their encounter on the train and a tremor ran through her.

“We should… probably finish our work,” she said lamely.

“As you wish,” he replied. They continued working, the silence broken only by the scratching of quills, ruffling of parchment, and flipping of pages. Occasionally, she would look at Draco; once or twice making eye contact.

He closed a book just as she was finishing her last line. It was late by now; she had lost track of time as she always did in the library.

“We should probably head back to our dormitories. Should I go first?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s necessary. You know the prefects will have rounded everyone up by now. It’s past curfew,” he replied. They packed up their things and left the library, making their way to the door off the Entrance Hall. Draco held the door open for her and she walked through with a smile of thanks. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they walked up the stairs. She could feel him watching her from behind and suddenly she felt self-conscious.

When they reached the corridor with the suits of armor, Draco spoke, “Granger,” she turned to face him and could see the internal debate he seemed to be having. She reached out, taking his hand in silent encouragement. It was bold. She didn’t know what this thing was between them, but she knew she had to make a move if she wanted to find out.

“I don’t understand you,” he finally said, stepping close enough so that only she would be able to hear what he said next. “But if you’ll allow it, I’d like to.”

“As you wish,” she said to him, knowing that he would miss the reference and not caring. They walked toward the suits of armor in quiet contemplation, but the air between them was electric.

“Do you want me to wait a few minutes before entering?” he asked her before they entered the common room.

“No,” she said.

“They might talk,” he said, but it sounded like a question.

“Let them,” she said, not caring who was on the other side of the wall, then “In veritas dolor.” The suits of armor moved their weapons. Hermione looked back at Draco, smiled, then turned and walked through the wall.

The room was empty except for Theo, who sat reading by the fire. He looked up when Hermione entered, nodding in greeting and then went back to his book. Draco entered just behind her, and she looked back to see him make his way over to an empty seat near Theo.

“Waiting up for me?” she heard Draco say to Theo.

Theo laughed and said, “It was my turn to make sure you made it back in one piece. I was just about to send out the search party.”

She was almost to the door, but she thought she heard Draco say, “I was in good hands.”

***

It was Saturday morning, and the first week had finally come to an end. Hermione headed down to breakfast early, ready to start her weekend. She was surprised to see Ginny and Luna already there.

“Good morning,” she said as she took a seat next to Luna who sat across from Ginny.

“Good morning, Hermione,” said Luna tipping the last drops of tea from Ginny’s cup and peering intently at the remaining dregs.

“I didn’t expect to see you up so early, Ginny,” Hermione said.

“I want to spend some time practicing this morning. Tryouts are next week and as the Captain of the Gryffindor team, I can’t afford to waste a single minute of broom time. Been busy have you?” Ginny said, shoveling a large bite of eggs into her mouth in a way that reminded Hermione of Ron.

“My schedule has been very busy, as you can imagine. When I’m not in class, I’m studying. Hard to keep ahead otherwise. I was thinking I might head up to the Gryffindor Common Room this afternoon. I haven’t been back yet and it would be nice. Will you be there?”

“Yes, it would be great to catch up! Now, I have a lot of work to do if I want to win the Quidditch Cup this year!” said Ginny, finishing up the last bite of food on her plate and rising to get up.

“Ginny,” said Luna, “try not to worry so much, the Gryffindor team will have a great year. Oh, and do steer clear of those old school brooms—they could lead to injury.”

“Thanks, Luna!” and Ginny left with a swish of red hair.

“I do believe Harry bought her a new broom for her birthday, so she shouldn’t have a need to use the school brooms,” said Hermione, reassuringly.

“That is a lovely amulet,” said Luna, noticing the necklace Hermione hadn’t bothered to conceal that morning.”How did it find you?” she said, curious.

“This?” she said musing at Luna’s choice of words, “I don’t exactly remember, except I think I might have seen it in an antique shop.” It wasn’t entirely untrue, she just wasn’t sure that it had actually happened outside of her dream. Suddenly she had an image of herself being drawn to a glass case in the back of a dusty old shop, and then in a flash it was gone.

“Curious the way these things happen,” said Luna. “I don’t suppose you’ll need your tea leaves read while you’re wearing that. Well, I must be off now. Have a nice day.” Luna smiled mysteriously and walked away humming a song Hermione couldn’t quite place.

Hermione was glad she’d had the ring inspected before she left, otherwise, Luna’s comments may have been worrying.

Hermione finished her breakfast and headed back to her room. She planned to do a bit of work before she headed up to see Ginny later.

She passed Dean, Neville, and Hannah on her way back. It was nice to see them talking and laughing. The large common room was full of morning sunlight when she entered, and she considered working at one of the small tables near the windows. The castle, the sunlight, the laughter were like a salve to wounds she’d been left with; the only problem was that its application reminded her of injuries that had yet to fully heal. She was looking forward to having some time alone, to remove the everything-is-fine mask she often felt compelled to wear. She didn’t feel resentful about it; it was just taxing to constantly keep her feelings at bay.

Once in her room, Hermione slipped into a pair of worn jeans, a white camisole and a loose cotton jumper that hung off one shoulder, then pulled her hair into a messy bun. She sat in the window seat in her bedroom, knees drawn up, head against the wall and gazed out the window as hot tears began to leak from her eyes. Everywhere she looked there were memories of things that no longer existed. The castle had been restored to a reasonable semblance of its former glory, but even the portraits mourned the loss of their neighbors. McGonagall had brought in an additional healer to counsel students through their trauma, and Hermione had no doubt that this healer would be kept busy.

Even as a new hope was budding inside her, a storm raged, lashing out in quiet sobs. She let the sorrow flow out of her in a flood of tears, shoulders shaking with uncontrolled emotion. Memories, regrets, and anger weighed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She cried until she felt the fatigue wash over her. Hermione closed her eyes, as the storm began to dissipate. She thought she felt a hand brush away her tears, but no one was there.

Hermione sniffled, mind ready to focus on the work she needed to do. She gathered her books, parchment, and quills and made her way to the desk in the small living room.

By mid-morning, she had already completed a week’s worth of homework. She stood up and stretched, then attempted to tuck away a few loose curls that refused to be restrained. On the wall next to the desk hung a large floor to ceiling tapestry. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but it caught her eye now. It was an image of a large stone archway that led to a garden. The wall was covered in purple wisteria climbing up one side and draping over the archway. Ivy climbed up the other side entangling with the wisteria at the top. What was most interesting was the peacock perched on a large stone urn just in front of the arch. Its cerulean plumage reminded Hermione of Ginny’s baby shower dress, and she mused at life’s tendency to weave moments of joy with moments of sadness or anger or loss. It was all part of a complex tapestry.

As she stood staring through the arch, wishing she could climb in and walk through the garden beyond, she considered writing to Ron. She had no idea what she could possibly say to begin repairing their ruptured friendship. She hadn’t changed her mind about her decision and she didn’t want to give Ron false hope. Maybe she would talk to Ginny before doing anything.

Hermione reached out to touch the majestic bird, knowing full well that she would only feel the woven threads of the tapestry but drawn to it anyway. She pressed her palm against it and lost her balance as the tapestry gave way several centimeters where she had expected a solid wall. Hermione pulled back the tapestry and found a door. She wondered what she might find beyond the door: a secret passageway, a hidden room, a wall?

The door was heavy, but it opened when she pushed and she was surprised to find herself in a room that mirrored hers. It seemed silly now not to have considered this as the most likely possibility. She looked around and locked eyes with a very surprised Draco who was sitting on the small sofa with a book in his lap.

“Oh!” she said. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that door opened up to your room. In fact, I had no idea that you were my neighbor or that there was a door there at all until just a moment ago. And, of course, I had to find out where it led in case it was a passageway to somewhere else. For security reasons, of course. And, okay, curiosity too.” She was babbling and Draco looked amused. “I’ll just go then,” she said pointing to the door behind her.

“Granger,” he said, closing his book, “take a deep breath. Then, sit down. I was just about to pour myself some tea. Would you care for some?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” She closed the door, which turned out to be Draco’s bookshelf, then sat on the other side of the small sofa. The room was full of golden sunshine. She could see small dust motes swirling in the light.

“Relax, Granger,” he said carrying two teacups to the small table in front of her, then heading back to the counter to retrieve a small plate of biscuits. She realized she had been sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the seat, hands resting primly on her knees as if she were waiting for him to come to his senses and send her back from whence she came. She let out a breath she’d been holding in, causing the dust motes to scramble chaotically before settling back into their languid dance. She relaxed into the fluffy cushions, tucking one foot under the other knee, leg hanging over the edge of the moss green cushion. He handed her a teacup and offered her a biscuit, which she took.

“Malfoy, I had no idea you had such domestic talent,” she said, teasingly.

“What you don’t know about me could fill a book,” he said sarcastically, reminding her of something he had said on the train. It wasn’t the time to ask about that.

“I do love to read,” she said, taking a sip of tea.

“Are you being coy, Granger?” he said, turning up one corner of his mouth in amusement. She shrugged her exposed shoulder.

“Seriously, where did you learn how to brew tea? It’s quite nice.”

“I’m a wizard, I know how to boil water,” he paused, then as he brought his teacup to his lips he said, “And I had a house elf teach me the proper technique when I was spending a lot of time here this summer.”

She caught herself gaping and closed her mouth.

“Of course you did,” she said, then, “Did you mean what you said the other day?”

“I did,” he said, and she knew he was telling the truth.

“Then why are you avoiding me?” she asked.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he said.

“Why haven’t I seen you in the library?” she challenged him.

“I wanted to give you the space to change your mind. But if you’re sure, then I will join you there more often.”

“I would like that,” she said, taking a bite of her biscuit.

“Tell me about that book you were reading on the train,” he said, changing the subject. He set his teacup on the coffee table. She watched him recline casually into the corner of the sofa. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a light grey henley shirt that accented his eyes. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing the lower half of the faded dark mark on his forearm. She made an effort not to linger on it; she didn’t want him to feel self-conscious.

It took her a moment to remember what she had been reading. “Oh, that,” she said. “It’s a muggle book.” She waited to see if he would comment.

“I gathered as much, Granger. Tell me about it,” he said, smirking.

“Okay, well, it’s a story about a nineteenth-century woman who is spurned by an arrogant aristocrat. He believes her to be below his station and she thinks he lacks the basic good manners any gentleman should have. Meanwhile, she becomes interested in a man who turns out to be a complete tosser.”

“Wait, wait,” said Draco, “are we still talking about your book?” Small lines of consternation had formed between his brows and he waited, genuinely interested in her answer. He thought she was making it up.

She laughed, “Yes, of course! Anyway, somewhere in between that and trying to mitigate the consequences of everyone else’s terrible life choices, the two fall in love. Only they don’t learn of the other’s feelings until late in the book. She learns to be less hasty in her judgments and he learns to be more tolerant and accepting.”

“And you like this story?” he said.

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“And the arrogant prat?”

“Yes, and so does practically every woman that’s ever read the book. Though he does take some warming up to.” She laughed.

“I’m sure it makes more sense if you read the whole story,” he said, sounding as if he’d given up trying to understand the appeal. But she heard something else in his tone, and she knew he would be thinking about it later.

“Of course it does. That’s true for any book, isn’t it? You’re more than welcome to read my copy any time you like. I’ve read it a thousand times. If we were at home, I’d say we could watch the film adaptation. It’s quite well done.”

“Film? Granger, you are losing me,” he said.

“Alright. I’ll educate you another day,” she said, feeling she had talked enough.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” Draco said, suddenly standing.

“Of course. I can leave if you have things to get back to,” she said.

“I don’t; I’ll only be gone a minute. Please make yourself comfortable,” he said, then he walked to the door she knew must lead into his bedroom.

She sat for a moment, then grew restless. She remembered his bookshelf and walked over to see what was there. He had many of the textbooks she did, of course, but he also had a number of other books. There were books on alchemy, one on British muggles—which Hermione assumed was his textbook for the Muggle Studies class he was probably made to take—and many whose titles had faded on the thick leather spines.

Then she spotted a book called, “Natural Magic: A Study of the Elements.” Hermione felt drawn to the book. She touched the spine, but was cautious—you never knew what could be inside a wizarding book.

“Find something you like?” said Draco, his left arm grazing her right as he stood next to her.

“Oh, several things, actually, but this one…” and her eyes drifted back to the book.

He pulled it off the shelf and handed it to her. “Keep it as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” she said, noticing that he had pulled down his sleeves.

“Does it bother you?” she said reaching out to his left arm and rubbing her thumb over his shirt where she knew the mark was.

“Not anymore,” he said, not pulling his arm from her grasp. She set the book on the shelf and pushed up his sleeve; he winced.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” she said, now caressing his bare skin. She could feel him tensing beneath her touch. The mark was a faint pink color, looking like it had been carved into his arm instead of magically applied.

“What a pair we are,” he said pushing up her sleeve and kissing the word engraved as a permanent reminder of the perception that once divided them. Then he looked at her, pale grey eyes studying her reaction over his straight, fine nose. She gazed back unflinching, feeling only the thrill of his touch, losing herself in the lines of his chiseled jaw, his mouth bowing in gentle contrast.

He kissed her, putting one hand on the small of her back and drawing her body to his. His mouth was unsure at first, searching for resistance, and then, finding her yielding, forceful and intense, attempting to convey all the things they hadn’t said. She draped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his soft, pale hair.

Minutes passed. It could have been days. They pulled apart and he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“You…” he whispered, “you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

She wondered what he had been going to say. Then, she put her hands on his face and forced him to look at her, “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” No one could ever really know, of course, but the combination of dreams and Gryffindor courage made her feel more prepared than she might otherwise. She radiated a fierce determination she hoped he felt.

He leaned forward and kissed her again. She released his face and let her hands rest gently on his neck before sliding them down his muscled shoulders, over his arms and down to his hands where she entwined her fingers with his.

She felt the ring pressing sharply into her chest and knew it must be poking him as well, resting as it was over her jumper, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t pull away from him if they were on fire, and indeed, she felt it consuming her now as he kissed her with abandon. She knew he had accepted whatever this was, whatever it could be. There were questions to be answered, but not this one. Whatever doubt had existed between them was burning to ashes in the heat of their embrace, and Hermione felt her soul soar on the embers drifting slowly to the sky.


	5. October 1998

September went by in a blur of classes and homework. Hermione had let her nineteenth birthday slip by unnoticed, not much in the mood for celebration. Still, Harry had sent her a gift—some self-inking quills, a journal, and a muggle book she hadn’t had a chance to read, something about an English woman who travels back in time and finds herself in the Scottish highlands two centuries before she had been born. Ginny, Luna, and Neville had given her a birthday cake by the Black Lake in the afternoon, as Hermione had forbidden them from telling anyone it was her birthday.

It was a Saturday morning in early October. Hermione was just returning from breakfast in the Great Hall where everyone was talking about the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin that afternoon. Hermione had eaten some toast and coffee and returned to her room with an unread Daily Prophet. She walked through the common room thinking that maybe she would read it in one of the cozy alcoves, or in the loft as they had begun calling it, or in one of the chairs near the window. Or maybe, quietly in her room, where no one would disturb her.

She walked into her room face buried in the front page story, "Chosen One Assists in the Capture of Death Eater, Mulcible Jr. while Rookwood and Nott Sr. Remain at Large" she read.

"One down," Hermione said to herself, collapsing on the sofa. She landed right in Draco's lap, letting out an undignified squeak, and dropping the paper on the coffee table. Draco laughed.

"Granger, I could have been anyone," he said, wrapping his arms around her as she reflexively tried to stand. "You really should pay more attention to what you're doing. Although, this is a pleasant turn of events. So, perhaps you should carry on."

"Do let me know when you've made up your mind," she said, giving him a withering look.

Draco tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, and touched a finger to his lips in mock consideration.

"On the one hand," he said, "you are adorable when you're angry with me." She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. "On the other hand," he put a silencing finger over her lips, "I was very much looking forward to finding out what you are wearing beneath that hideous thing that has eaten you alive."

She put her hand to her chest affronted on behalf of the long, thick cable-knit jumper she had thrown on this morning with a pair of leggings. The mauve jumper was one of her favorites; it’s what she wore on days when she planned to curl up with a book. It was cold when she woke, and she had planned for a relaxing morning of reading.

"You are going from bad to worse," she said, not even pretending she had any intention of removing herself from his lap. "But, I will allow you to make it up to me," she said, putting her arms around his neck and tilting her head back regally.

"Merciful goddess," he said brushing her cheek with a kiss, "I have every intention of doing that. But first, tell me what in Salazar's name you were muttering about when you walked in here. My curiosity is piqued."

"What?" she said trying to remember, "Oh, that." She picked up the paper and held it out for him to read. His expression grew dark.

"Splendid," he said flatly taking the paper from her, "Father will be out of Azkaban in no time if he continues delivering his old cronies into the Ministry’s hands." His eyes flashed, and he tossed the paper aside.

"Is that good news, then?" she said, unsure. It certainly sounded like disdain for his father, but she also knew he had once adored the man.

"I haven’t even a modicum of excitement to see that man return to wreak further havoc on our lives. He can rot in Azkaban for all I care. Pity the Dementors were removed from the prison; Aurors are much too innocuous as guards." He was gazing into the distance, lost in a prison of his own.

Hermione privately agreed, but she was shocked to hear the words from Draco's mouth.

"Draco," she said softly, touching his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." It was the first time he had used her given name, and she didn't know what to say, particularly because she couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. "I was a foolish child who idolized his father and enjoyed the prestige and privilege that came with the Malfoy name and with the ridiculous pureblood beliefs.” This is not what she had been expecting to hear. “It is bad enough to oppress others for your advantage, it is entirely another to kill innocents because of some insatiable need to elevate yourself. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever believed it, and I’m sorry I participated in any of it. But mostly," he said, wearing a look of agony that broke her heart as his eyes bore into hers, "I'm sorry I ever hurt you, especially because I never meant a word of it."

She didn't try to console him for worshipping a man who had led him astray, perhaps she would broach the subject another day. She knew that right now, what he needed more than anything, was her forgiveness.

"I have already forgiven you," she said. And she kissed him, slow and deep, pouring her forgiveness into him like water into the soil of a parched plant. Her thumb caressed his cheek, wiping away a single tear that he would not have wanted her to see. And finally, his arms tightened around her, one small wound now beginning to heal.

"It is getting rather hot in here, isn't it?" she said after a while. Hermione pulled the sweater over her head, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud. She was wearing a camisole beneath it, so it cost her nothing to do it but gave him great pleasure.

For a moment he just stared. Then, he kissed her collarbone. He pushed the straps of her bra and camisole off of her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.

"Go with me," she said to him.

"I'll go wherever you want me to go," he said absently, caressing her breast over the thin cotton fabric and watching the small point of arousal appear.

"I'm serious," she said. "Go to the game with me." His hand ceased its teasing movements, and she knew she had his attention.

"Granger, the risk is too great. I cannot have you standing in the shadow of my past. You’re too good for that, and if some arsehole upsets you, my hands are tied—if I set a single toe out of line, the Ministry will pull me out of here faster than you can say Azkaban, " he said protesting.

"You're right," she said, and he was surprised, "But I won't be standing in your shadow, you will be standing in my light. For Godric's sake, Draco, don't you understand that I…that I am made of sturdier stuff than that? And for that matter, so are you. Let them talk. And if anyone dares to even look at you the wrong way, I will hex them into next week."

"There's my feisty witch," he said, turning up one corner of his mouth in a small smile. "Alright, I'll go on one condition: we sit in the Hufflepuff stands."

"Coward," she said, smiling in acquiescence.

"Granger, have you ever pissed off a Hufflepuff?" he said shuddering, and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine. But, first, I believe you have some making up to do," she said imperiously. Then, she pulled her bra and camisole down to her waist and sat smiling as he stared incredulously at her bare breasts.

***

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Draco muttered as they prepared to leave his room later.

“I believe it had something to do with me being a goddess and having … what was it you said?” she paused, pretending to recall his words.

“Breasts that could put Venus de Milo to shame,” he said, looking at her amused.

“Right,” she said even now surprised at the reference. “Now, get your arse over here if you ever want to see them again,” and when Draco stood in front of her, she threw her scarf around his neck and used it to pull him into a kiss, leaning into him teasingly.

“Granger, this,” he said holding up the scarf between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a filthy sock from the Gryffindor team’s locker room, “is not my color.”

“Hmmm, you may be right,” she laughed and took it back.

“This, however,” he said pulling an emerald green knit cap over her hair, “is quite a stunning color on you.”

“But what will you wear?” she said.

“This black one will do just fine,” he said. Hermione suspected that he wore it as much to hide his ashen hair as to keep warm.

“Let’s go. And don’t even think of not holding my hand,” she said in warning.

He smiled then, a brilliant smile of pure happiness Hermione had never seen.

“I love it when you tell me what to do,” he said. She stood on her toes and kissed him one more time, ready to take on the world.

The common room, buzzing with excitement just moments before, grew silent when they entered, every head turned in their direction. Some wore looks of surprise, others confusion, but a handful began to cheer and whistle—all of the Slytherins, a couple Hufflepuffs, and one Gryffindor. Hermione just smiled, bracing herself to face what was certain to be a much, much worse reaction.

But somehow, they made their way to the Quidditch pitch without much trouble. Most students didn’t notice them, caught up as they were in their own excitement to notice the unlikely pair. She heard someone say, “Was that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy?” to which the friend replied, “Have you gone completely barmy? Hurry up before all the best seats are taken.”

“I still think this is ridiculous,” said Hermione as they squeezed past several Hufflepuffs to reach the highest bench. They looked at the pair curiously as they passed, but quickly lost interest and went back to their conversations.

“Granger, you’ve seen for yourself how most of the Gryffindors treat the Slytherins, and I’m the worst of the lot in their eyes. Even most of my own house doesn’t want anything to do with me, which is just fine with me, but that doesn’t earn you any extra charity. No, I’m not ready for that. Besides, the Puffs have cookies,” he finished with a winsome smile.

“Draco, that is such a ridiculous characterization of their house,” she said just as a petite, blonde Hufflepuff girl held out a tin of cookies in their direction, her cornflower blue eyes full of mirth.

“Snuck them from the kitchen!” she said, giggling. Draco took two and thanked the girl, handing one to Hermione with an I-told-you-so expression.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and took the cookie. “Thank you,” she said petulantly.

Madam Hooch threw the balls into the air, and the game began. Gryffindor scored three times before a Slytherin Chaser got one past the Gryffindor Keeper. Just as Ginny was about the throw the quaffle through one of the hoops, Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

“What was that for? Ginny was about to score!”

“Gryffindors were stooging,” said Draco, leaning over so she could hear but not taking his eyes off the game.

“Oh,” she said. She had no idea what he meant by that. Sure, she had watched—and listened to—enough Quidditch to understand the basic rules, but she was lost when it came to understanding the countless things that could go wrong. She hated appearing uninformed about anything, so she kept her mouth shut.

The game began again, and Slytherin took the lead. Ginny had the quaffle again when two Slytherin Chasers closed in on her from either side, forcing her to drop the ball.

“Oh, come on! That had to be a foul,” Hermione said.

“It was only a body blow,” said Draco, “Perfectly legal.”

“Looked like...blotching...to me,” she said, wishing she had paid more attention during Harry and Ron’s endless commentary on Quidditch games.

Draco looked at her and smiled, “You mean blatching?” he asked.

“That’s what I said,” she retorted.

“Of course, I must have heard wrong. Bit loud out here,” he said smiling as he turned back to the game.

Ginny passed the Quaffle to one of the other chasers who put the ball through the hoop on the right. Madam Hooch’s whistle blew again.

“What the hell?” said Hermione. She looked at Draco, “Will you just tell me why that didn’t count?” she said, giving up.

“Haversacking,” Draco said, and when Hermione shook her head, then threw up her hands in exasperation he added, “The chaser’s hand was still on the quaffle when it went through the hoop.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t realized that was a foul. Hmm.

“Granger,” he turned to her with brows furrowed, “weren’t your best friends Quidditch players?” he said, obviously assuming she knew much more about the game than she actually did.

“Erm, well, they mostly talk to each other about it and leave me to follow it on my own...or not. It’s not unlike when I try to review exams after the fact and they tune me out,” she said, not wanting to cast them in a bad light.

“We shall have to remedy that,” he said. And he spent the rest of the game explaining all the fouls as they happened and answering her questions. Usually, it bored her to tears, but Draco’s face lit up when he talked about it, and she knew she would talk to him about Quidditch for the rest of her life if he had wanted.

The teams were well-matched, Gryffindor taking an early lead, then Slytherin coming back strong. When Hermione saw the two Seekers speeding toward each other from opposite ends of the field, she knew they must have spotted the Snitch, though she couldn’t see it. She grabbed on to Draco’s arm bracing herself for a bone-crushing collision, but it never came. A bludger took out the Slytherin seeker just before they crashed. Gryffindor won the game, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Everywhere people were hugging each other and clapping their friends and neighbors on the back. Three-quarters of the sections were being showered by scarlet and gold confetti, and Hermione marveled at the game’s ability to draw people together.

When she turned to Draco, she found him watching her, his eyes gleaming, a smile lighting up his face.

“You were right, Granger, this was fun,” he admitted. Then he gave her a chaste kiss.

People were leaving the stands in droves, and Hermione debated on whether it was better to get ahead of the crowd or wait it out. Draco moved to stand, but she squeezed his hand and pulled him back down on the bench next to her.

“Let’s wait a bit,” she told him. The benches were slowly emptying. Here and there people lingered, chatting animatedly. Hermione shivered in the chill breeze, and she looked up at the gray sky wondering if there would be rain. Draco cast a warming charm over them, and she smiled gratefully.

“Draco,” she said turning to him, “does it bother you to sit in the stands when you should be on the field?”

He took a minute to answer. “I do miss playing,” he finally said closing his eyes, and she imagined he was remembering his days as a seeker. “But,” he said now looking at her, “it’s better this way. I certainly don’t need the extra attention. And it gives me more time to be with you.”

“But you were a good seeker,” she pressed. “They might have actually won this match if you’d been playing.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, “Weasley is a bloody good Chaser; I think she scored more points than the three Slytherin Chasers together.”

She smiled, surprised by the compliment to Ginny.

“But,” he said lightening his tone, “do tell me more about how great you think I am.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy. You don’t need me to tell you.”

“No, but I want you to tell me,” he said wrapping his arms around her. They were the only ones left and he grew bolder.

“Alright,” she said, laughing, “Let’s just say that seeing you on a broom makes me want a ride.”

He just looked at her—head cocked, one eye narrowed, an uncertain smile on his face—and finally said, "Did you mean for that to come off that way?"

"No," she said. She hadn't thought about it before she'd blurted it out. But, now that he mentioned it, she realized it wasn't entirely untrue. "And yes."

“Fuck, Granger,” he exhaled.

“Not here,” she said with a laugh, trying to cut through the tension with ribald humor. But Draco’s eyes went wide, his expression serious as he fought against the same need she now found building in herself. “Let’s just get back, then, shall we?” she said standing. He stood, still in a daze and she kissed him hard. “Ready?”

He shook his head but walked willingly out of the deserted stadium.

A large group of Eighth years sat on the couches nearest the fireplace in their common room. The candles in the ornate chandelier above them had already been extinguished, but the bonfire burning in the fireplace provided ample light where they sat. Outside, the cloud-covered sky was dark, and in a far corner of the room, a couple—Hermione couldn’t tell who—took advantage of the privacy it provided.

Somehow, Hermione and Draco had been recognized by several students, and by the time the game had ended, news of their attendance had spread like a virus through the school. People had grown tired of waiting for their appearance after the game, so they had hardly met any resistance as they hurried through the Entrance Hall to the door, which seemed to prevent anyone from following after them.

Dinner had been provided in the dining area of their common room, and after everyone had eaten, they sat all sat around celebrating the Gryffindor win, chatting, gossiping and shooting furtive glances to Hermione and Draco.

It had grown late and a sleepy silence had fallen over the group. The fire crackled, not ready to end the merriment of earlier conversations.

“Alright,” Draco addressed the group for the first time, “let’s talk about the erumpent in the room. I know you are all burning with questions, so let’s hear them.” He sounded bored, but Hermione knew better.

"Okay," said Hannah, speaking up, "why did you come back to Hogwarts?"

Everyone looked at Draco, wondering if he would answer. It wasn’t the question Hermione had been expecting, and she had to give the group more credit than she had been.

"We ken," Morag said, "ye dinnae need an education tae bide aff yer family's fortuin."

"Seriously, does anyone actually know what she's saying?" said Pansy coming across as sarcastic even while wearing a look of bewilderment, and everyone laughed, including Morag.

"You're right, of course," Draco addressed Morag, "I have the good fortune to be a man of leisure, should I choose to be, and that does not require me to complete my N.E.W.T.s. However," he paused looking at Hermione. She gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement, and he continued, "I had to come back as part of the terms of my probation." He looked at them, waiting for their response.

They all looked surprised at his honesty, and Hermione smiled.

"Would you have come back if it were up to you?" asked Neville.

Draco's brow furrowed. "I don't think so." He sighed. "I prefer to stay away from crowds when I can. The Wizengamot may have found me innocent, but the court of public opinion has not. That said, it would have been a mistake."

"Neville," said Hermione, "why didn't you take Shaklebolt's offer to become an Auror straight away?"

Everyone looked at Neville, except Draco who gave a small nod of thanks to Hermione before joining the rest of the group in waiting for Neville's response.

"Er, well," said Neville rubbing the back of his neck, "my Gran insisted that I graduate. She said that no grandson of hers was going to 'shirk his responsibilities and take the easy road.'"

"If I had to face the notorious vulture," said Dean in mock seriousness, "I would have jumped on the train back to Hogwarts, too!" And they all laughed, remembering Neville's boggart from third year. An image of Severus Snape wearing a stuffed vulture on his head and carrying a large red handbag flashed through Hermione's mind. She felt a pang of sadness when she thought of Snape, but she pushed it away, wanting to be a giddy schoolgirl for just a moment. All she could manage was a smile.

"And anyway," Neville finally continued, "Shacklebolt said I have a position waiting for me when I leave Hogwarts, so I haven't really lost anything by returning... Alright then, Hannah, why did you come back?"

"Me?" said Hannah surprised. "I, uh, well, I was on the fence, then Susan asked me to return with her—she wanted a friend here. She hasn't got anyone left, you know."

They were all quiet for a moment. Hermione felt a complex combination of sadness for those lost and gratefulness for those she still had.

"Okay, okay, enough with the sob fest," said Pansy. "Blaise, Theo, you're up. Tell us why you came back."

"That's easy: we came back for Draco," said Theo unashamed to admit his allegiance to a friend.

"Now that he's finally rid himself of those sycophants and is man enough to handle being challenged once in a while..." said Blaise smirking.

"What are you on about?" said Draco. "The three of us have been friends since we were children."

"Yeah, outside of school, mate," said Blaise teasingly.

"That's enough, boys," said Pansy, rolling her eyes. "Let's see, we know why the Ravenclaws returned," she said looking at Padma and Morag.

"She's nae wrong," said Morag to the group. "We're 'ere tae learn." Padma merely shrugged in agreement.

"What about you, Dean?" said Neville.

"I dunno. I mean, why wouldn't I come back?" Dean said shrugging.

"Typical Gryffindor," said Pansy.

"Oh, come on," said Hermione. "Can we let go of the stereotypes for one minute?"

"Tell us why you're here, Pansy," said Dean turning the question on Pansy before Hermione could get worked up about it. The Eighth Years had begun teasingly asking her when she would be handing out buttons for the A.R.S.E group, Advocates for Reduction of Slytherin Exclusion.

"Me?" Pansy laughed, "Where else am I going to find so many eligible bachelors in one place?" Everyone laughed.

"I’m practically a walking stereotype,” Pansy continued. “Though, I'll admit that we Slytherins are more than ambitious, self-serving arseholes." Pansy's eyes flicked to Draco and then moved lasciviously to Blaise and Theo. Theo shook his head, and Blaise made a crude gesture, causing a mixture of laughter and groans among the group.

"I'll give you that," said Hermione, appeased. The fire crackled, and the group was silent for a minute.

"Well, none of us are surprised to see you here," said Pansy to Hermione, "the—what is it—'brightest witch of her age.' You certainly gave Draco some competition; couldn't quite keep up with your marks, could you, Draco darling? I don’t think you ever heard the end of it from Lucius, did you?" Draco was giving Pansy a scathing look, and she stopped talking, realizing she had gone too far. Theo sat stoically. Blaise was shaking his head in a warning Pansy hadn't seen.

"Lucius," said Draco, "never accepted anything less than perfection. A little hypocritical, if you ask me," he said derisively.

"Well," Neville said after a tense silence, "it's getting late. I'm going to call it a night." He stood up and walked away. Hannah followed shortly after, and the group began to disperse.

Hermione made eye contact with Draco. He bade the others goodnight and left. Once Dean and Padma went, Hermione stood to leave.

"Have a good night," said Blaise smiling at her suggestively. Theo smiled and nodded in gentlemanly farewell.

"Er, thank you," said Hermione, and she left.

When Hermione reached her corridor, she found Pansy sitting on a window ledge waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," said Pansy.

"Whatever for?" said Hermione.

"I forget myself sometimes. I think Draco was upset on your behalf. I told him, and now I'll tell you, that I didn't mean what I said about you to come across as an insult."

"Oh, well, I didn't take it that way," said Hermione and Pansy seemed to relax.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione said striking up the courage to finally get to the bottom of something that had been bothering her.

"Sure," said Pansy.

"Well, you and Draco, I mean, what you said earlier...that is to say, I know you used to—"

"I'll stop you right there," said Pansy not unkindly, "There is nothing between me and Draco. Sure, I fancied him once, but the truth is he's had a thing for you since third year. I gave up on him a while ago. I know a lost cause when I see one. And...you’re good for him; we all think so."

"Oh," said Hermione lamely. It was too much to process.

"Well, goodnight. Tell him that we talked, will you? I still consider him a friend, and I hate to add any unpleasantness to his life—he has enough critics already," Pansy's eyes shone with a fierceness that had always been mildly frightening to Hermione. Then, Pansy turned and walked into the door behind her.

Hermione wasted no time walking to her room and making her way through the tapestry to Draco's room, which was dark except for the light dancing from the fireplace.

"What took you so long?" he said.

He was lounging on the loveseat wearing green and black flannel pants and a black thermal shirt, one arm outstretched across the back of the seat. Hermione wondered at the causal grace he always managed to exude. She took a moment to admire the fit of his shirt, the sleeves pushed up, revealing beautifully muscled forearms and the faded dark mark in a silent statement of trust.

"I was just chatting with Pansy," she said, and he gave a knowing look.

"Good," he said, and then, "I won’t bite… unless you want me to," and Hermione realized she had just been standing there, enjoying the view. "Come," he said, turning up a hand in invitation.

She tried not to think about his teeth grazing her skin as she nestled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She had questions that needed answering.

"She, erm, mentioned that you've had a thing for me since third year. Is that true?" she asked.

"Told you that, did she?" he said.

Hermione waited for him to continue. It took a minute, but he finally spoke again.

"Yes, alright, it's true. Despite what my father said about your blood, what I believed about your status,” he said apologetically, “you, Granger, were the only one who really challenged me. When I wasn’t at the top of Snape’s class, I had to acknowledge your brilliance… When you hit me, I knew you were a force to be reckoned with... and then, at the Yule ball, you dazzled the whole room and never noticed..." he seemed to be sifting through his memories like a box of cherished photos.

"But," said Hermione reeling, "you were so awful to us."

"I said I had a thing for you, Granger. Potter and Weasley were another story, and you three were thick as thieves, which means you were sometimes caught in the crossfire, regrettably. Besides, how do you think everyone would have reacted if I had expressed my true feelings? Probably," he paused, "not much better than they will now."

"Feelings?" she said, turning to look up at him. He looked at her with those piercing gray eyes, a storm flashing behind them, and she knew she didn't need him to say anything at all.

Hermione pulled him into a kiss, for a moment thrilled just by the contact with his lips. Then, the spark caught. She kissed him hungrily, mouth now pressing hard against his. His hand caressed her face then slid into her hair. His fingers closed around a handful of curls and pulled her head back gently so that he could kiss a path along her jaw, down her neck, toward the necklace dangling between her breasts. Her body responded to the spreading fire with dampness that did nothing to keep the flames at bay.

“Draco!” she gasped, and he released her hair. She climbed into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist and ripping her shirt off. It fluttered to the floor. She could feel the embodiment of his desire straining to make contact with her through the flannel.

He kissed her hard, tongue parting her lips. His arms wrapped tight around her, and she leaned into him, breasts smashing softly against his muscular chest. She couldn't think of anything except the need to get closer to him; every cell in her body screaming for contact with his. She shifted her hips against him and he hummed a note of pleasure into her mouth. His hands squeezed her arse and she thrust her hips again. He pulled away with a groan.

“Not like this, love,” he rasped. She felt disoriented at first and then registered his words, reluctantly moving to climb off of his lap, but his arms tightened around her.

“Stay,” he said surprising her, and she relaxed into his arms. He kissed her softly, then. Gently. They continued this way for several minutes, passion dimming to muted contentment. Finally, Hermione pulled away.

“It’s getting late,” she said, getting up, feeling suddenly exposed as she stood shirtless. Draco grabbed her hand before she could get too far.

“Stay,” he said again looking up at her.

“I really do need some sleep,” she protested.

“Then sleep,” he said standing to face her. “But do it here, with me.”

She didn’t know if she could stand to simply sleep, but she did know that separating herself from him was causing a dull ache in her chest and also somewhere a bit lower.

“Alright. Let me just go back to my room for a moment—”

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly, his grip on her hand tightening. She saw a vulnerability in his expression she had never seen before and decided she would do whatever she could to banish it. He pulled out his wand and conjured one of his shirts and a new toothbrush.

She raised a brow, “Just had that lying around, did you? I’ll go change, then,” she said, taking the offering, and made her way to his bathroom, grabbing her discarded shirt as she went.

She stripped down to her knickers, folding her clothes neatly as she removed them. After a moment of deliberation, she removed her bra as well, deciding she would sleep without it as was her habit. She looked at her reflection for a moment—a small purple bruise had blossomed on her left breast, her hair was mussed, eyes shining, cheeks pink, emerald ring glinting—and figured she looked well enough to go to sleep.

She pulled his dark grey Falmouth Falcons shirt over her head and felt her nipples rise to attention as the soft cotton grazed her breasts. The shirt smelled of him; she buried her nose in the collar and breathed in deeply. She had to stop this or she would go mad with unmet need.

A few minutes later, she walked into the bedroom resisting the urge to tug at the hem of the shirt that barely covered her bum. His eyes raked over her exposed legs, then moved upward, noting, no doubt, her still erect nipples.

“It suits you,” he said, standing up from where he sat at the edge of his bed. His room was similar to hers, only his curtains were a deep emerald green.

She put her clothes in a neat pile on the chaise lounge at the foot of his bed, then walked to where he was standing. He put a hand on her lower back and pulled her in for a kiss.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes. Please make yourself comfortable,” he said gesturing to the bed. He walked to the small bathroom and Hermione climbed in his bed. Should she lie down? Or sit up? She felt awkward and decided she’d sit, leaning against the headboard until he was in bed with her. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh at the thought of it. Oh, go away, she admonished; we are going to sleep now. Her body responded by leaking in rebellion, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Everything alright?” said Draco, reigning in a smile. Godric, that smile.

“Oh, erm, yes. Just fine,” she said in a slightly high pitched voice that didn’t convince even her. She shrugged and blew a stray curl away from her face.

“You, Granger, are adorable,” he said climbing in bed next to her. Did she want him to think she was adorable? Yes. And no.

“And, fucking hotter than a fire-dwelling salamander,” he finished, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh, thank you?” she said.

“Anytime,” he said and winked. She supposed he was trying to put her at ease. It was working. He turned out the lights, and Hermione lay carefully on “her side” of the bed.

“Granger,” he said seriously, reaching an arm out and pulling her to his side, “you do know that I didn’t invite you here because of your earlier comment?”

“Of course,” she said, understanding that he wanted much more than just her body. It was frustratingly gallant. She twined a leg between his and slid a hand beneath his shirt. Her hand moved upward, exploring the planes of his chest, discovering a long gash of scar tissue.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said responding to the sharp intake of breath that had escaped her. She rubbed a thumb across the scar Harry had given him in sixth year, finally acknowledging the complexity of the relationship between the two. It wouldn’t be as easy for Harry, or any of them, to completely forgive Draco as she already had, but she knew they would try for her sake.

“Why are you here?” he whispered, “You deserve better.” She wondered if he’d been thinking of their past as well.

“There is nowhere I’d rather be,” she said, knowing one day she would have to explain it to him in a way he would believe, but not now.

She lifted his shirt and kissed the wound in an act of acceptance, and in an apology that wasn’t hers to give.

“Goodnight,” he said, brushing his hand over her curls. She rested her head against his chest and drifted peacefully to sleep.

It was still dark when she woke. Somehow she had moved to the edge of the bed. On the other side, Draco thrashed in his sleep.

“No. Stop!” he shouted. Hermione rolled over and caressed his cheek.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she said gently. She brushed his hair out of his face. “I’m here.”

He hugged her tight, and she kissed his forehead, stroking his hair. He settled, breathing becoming slow and regular. His head rested on her chest and she imagined the things they could do if he was awake.

Her thoughts became scattered as she drifted off to sleep with him.

She woke up just before the sun. It had become an annoying habit. She was curled up, Draco pressed to her back, knees tucked behind hers. The hem of the shirt had risen to her waist as she slept and she could feel the length of Draco’s cock pressed against her in want as he slept. Something in her stirred.

She eased out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom to freshen up, then slid back into bed a few minutes later, hugging Draco, who had turned over when she’d left.

“You’re still here,” he said, rolling over to face her. His hair was gorgeously tousled, and she smiled, wondering how she had ever slept without him.

“Of course,” she said.

Draco kissed her. He tasted of spearmint, and a part of Hermione’s brain wondered how he had managed that. His hand moved slowly up her inner thigh, the sensitive skin tingling beneath his touch, and her thoughts quieted. When he reached her pelvis, he stopped.

“Granger, you aren’t wearing knickers," he said, a note of surprise in his voice. Draco blazed a path up her torso and put a hand on one breast, thumb lightly brushing over her nipple. He pinched gently, and she moaned.

Hermione’s heart quickened as Draco’s hand began traveling downward again, gliding over the curve of her hips and moving toward her bare nether region. He touched the soft hair there, fingers dancing over the silken curls. Then, he parted her and teasingly brushed her clit.

"Tell me to take a cold shower and I will," he said to her, eyes burning with desire, finger moving in lazy circles between her legs.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. She reached around his neck and pulled his mouth onto hers, thrusting her tongue in his mouth as he pushed a finger into the warm center of her.

"Oh!" she said detaching from his kiss. Draco pushed the shirt up and put her breast in his mouth, teeth grazing her nipple while his fingers moved in and out of her slowly, and then more quickly, thumb still stimulating her clit. She arched into him, throwing her head back. He kissed her neck, hand steadily guiding her into oblivion.

She cried out in unrestrained ecstasy. His movements slowed as her muscles clenched around him, then finally he removed his hand. He kissed her mouth gently and then collapsed next to her, his hard cock pressing into her thigh.

"That...I had no idea..." she struggled to find the right words. Then she turned on her side and looked into his eyes, wanting to express her desire to bring him to the same heights. "Draco..." she said pressing her palm against the soft fabric over his cock at a loss to find the words to express her need.

"That's not necessary," he said gently, though he made no move to remove her hand. "Your pleasure is my pleasure." The unselfish gesture only made her want it more. The first rays of the sun were beginning to shine through the window, and Hermione was grateful that they didn't have to rush off to classes today.

“And now I really do need a cold shower,” he said, kissing her forehead and getting out of bed.

She crept into the bathroom a couple of minutes after the shower started running. She had no space in her head for uncertainty or self-consciousness as she stripped down to nothing and stepped into the shower.

Draco had his head back, eyes closed as he let the water wash over him. His biceps flexed as he ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back in a way that reminded her of when they were younger. He was every bit a man now, she noted as she let her eyes sweep over his body taking in the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen, the neatly trimmed pubic hair and still erect penis. Godric, he was beautiful.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around his cock, and his eyes flew open.

"Granger," he said quietly, "what are you doing?"

She stepped closer, hand exploring his engorged member. "It hardly seems fair that you should have to bring about your own release as well."

Water continued to rain down from above, bouncing off Draco's body and spraying hers in a fine mist that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You're cold," he said, carefully guiding her into the hot water where he had been standing. She sighed as the water blanketed her body in warmth. Her eyes closed automatically, and she let her head fall back as her curls became heavy with water.

When she opened her eyes again, Draco was watching her with the look of a tiger stalking its prey.

"Perfection," he said, and something in her brain clicked into place.

She looked off into the middle distance as she realized that Ron had never thought her a perfectionist; he had only projected his own feelings of inadequacy in the face of what he saw as her perfection. It didn’t excuse the way he had treated her, but she understood now that it was never really about her.

"Granger, what's wrong?" Draco was standing in front of her, hands grasping her upper arms.

"Nothing," she said, fighting against anguish searing through her heart as the truth was expelled in painful release. "Nothing," she shook her head, releasing thoughts of Ron from her mind, and some part of her subconsciousness relaxed as it stopped trying to fix a flaw that never existed.

"That is not 'nothing,'" he said gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "If you've changed your mind—"

"No!" she said rather more forcibly than she'd intended. "No. I haven't. I'm sorry, I just..." she said, unable to finish the sentence.

He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly, shielding her head as they stood there beneath the water. She let her body melt into his.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked.

"I do, but not now," she said, and he accepted her decision with a kiss planted on the top of her head. His cock had softened slightly with concern; it brushed against her bringing her back to the moment. Every thought of Ron vanished, and her desire for Draco broke through her consciousness with a vengeance. She kissed his chest, and let her hands slide down to his arse. She could feel him rising between her legs. And then she made a decision.

"I... I've never..." she said carefully, dropping to her knees, and instead of finishing her sentence, she licked the underside of his cock, flicking her tongue when she reached the tip. Then she took as much of him into her mouth as she could, pulling away slowly as she sucked. She stopped to swirl her tongue around the head of his cock before releasing him.

Then she looked up at him, massaging him with her hand. His eyes were closed, and he let out a low moan. She forgot about everything except him and went back to her ministrations, sucking and licking and massaging until she felt him pull away, releasing thick semen onto her chest as she slowly removed her hand from the base of his cock.

He held out a hand and helped her up.

"Let me take care of that," he said, lathering his hands with a bar of soap. He washed his seed from her chest. "Granger, that was exquisite. Tell me," he said, sounding like he was carefully choosing his next words, "what else haven't you done before?"

His hands moved over her breasts, down her torso, over her hips. He kneeled, and his soapy hands slid around one thigh, over her knee, down to her ankle, then up the other leg, washing the thatch of hair when he reached it.

"A fair few things, considering I've only had sex twice," she said. She thought his hands were spending a bit more time than necessary on her pubic hair, but then he stood.

"With Ron," she felt the urge to confess, "but it was only sex and we never did anything more than just...just..."

"Granger," he said, stepping close, hands continuing to move over her body. "You don't have to go into detail; I understand your meaning."

And then he was washing her backside. His hands slid up to her lower back, over her shoulder blades, then down her arms.

"How..." she cleared her throat, preparing to ask a question whose answer she wasn't sure she wanted to know, "how many girls have you shagged?"

He stayed silent for a moment while he began lathering himself with soap. "None," he finally admitted. "Don't look so surprised, Granger.” And then after a beat, “I should probably tell you that I have done some heavy petting with a couple girls."

They were silent for a moment. He pulled her under the water, and the soap began to disappear, making a hasty retreat under the steady stream. "Glad we got that out of the way…” Hermione said, laughing nervously “...while we are in the shower.”

“I don’t know if it’s much less awkward to have that conversation in any circumstance,” he said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, “I'd like to wash my hair before I get out. Do you mind if I finish up while you dry off?

"Of course," he said. He kissed her and stepped out of the shower.

Then, she washed her hair, combing her hands through the tangles, and got out. As she stood, wrapped in a towel, dripping on the small rug, she realized she hadn't brought any clothes with her.

She stepped into Draco's room, just as he was about to open the door. He handed her a pile of clothes he had gotten from her room as she had finished her shower. His hair was still slightly wet, and his heather grey t-shirt had small dark circles where water had dripped on his shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, curious to see what he had selected. She turned to go back into the bathroom.

"You do know that I've seen everything already?" he said teasingly. She supposed he was right, but there was something oddly intimate in the mundane act of getting dressed in front of someone else. She looked him in the eye, dropped her towel, then walked, naked, to the bathroom.

She heard him laughing softly as she closed the door.

***

On Monday morning, Hermione woke in the sunless dawn. The sky was a deep indigo while the sun slumbered for just a bit more. Draco slept peacefully by her side. She slid out of bed and padded to his small sitting room, grabbing a book from his shelves.

She yawned and stretched, then curled up comfortably on his sofa. She pulled out her wand, and a small fire sprang to life. The warmth began to heat her bare skin, the loose camisole and tiny cotton shorts hardly providing a barrier against the cold; the emerald ring was like ice around her neck. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and opened the book she’d been meaning to read since her first kiss with Draco, “Natural Magic: A Study of the Elements.”

After the Introduction, the book was divided into four parts: Air, Fire, Water, Earth. Her finger slid down the table of contents until she spotted an interesting chapter in the “Earth” section of the book. She flipped to a page near the end of the book. “Stones,” the chapter heading read.

Stones are one of the most powerful natural elements. Taking many forms, stones, whether they are the smallest gemstones or the largest standing stones, have their own magical trace. It is important to note that every stone has its own unique magic and properties, and most only enhance what already exists, as is the case with most gemstones, rather than generating outcomes the way a potion or elixir might.

The rest of the chapter cataloged many stones alphabetically, describing the magic of each. She skimmed the list under the heading “Gemstones:” “agate”… “amber”… “bloodstone”… “chrysoprase”… “emerald.”

Emerald. She touched the ring hanging unassumingly around her neck, and remembered the dream Ron had told her it had something to do with love and relationships.

Emeralds have long been called the Stone of Successful & Abundant Love. It is often credited for opening the heart to giving and receiving love, though it will never create a feeling of false love nor draw the affection of an unwilling partner. It has a soothing power that brings healing and vitality to the spirit of the wearer.

“It’s too early,” Draco said sliding his arms around her from behind and kissing her cheek. She dropped the book with a sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice still laced with sleep, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Did I wake you?” she asked; she knew he didn’t sleep well. He slid next to her, and she wrapped her arm around him, covering him with the blanket though he had pulled on a long-sleeve thermal.

“No, no. The bed was too cold and empty without you there,” he said.

“Draco,” she said, unable to shake a thought, “do you think gemstones can alter a person’s behavior...make them act in ways they wouldn’t otherwise?” She hated the thought that their feelings may not be real. She didn’t think that was the case, but her analytical mind insisted on dissecting the question. The text was clear enough, but she had to be sure.

“No. Precious stones...they only encourage. They don’t work like charms or spells; they have no power to overcome a person’s free will. Anything they do will be true to the bearer. Am I making any sense? My head is still a bit fuzzy,” he said, sliding his hands in hers, fingers entwining.

“Mmm,” she said, feeling better about it.

“You’re worried about the necklace,” he said. “My signet has an emerald and it didn’t make me fall in love with every girl I ever fancied. Granted, there weren’t many, but the fact remains.”

“Yes, but I’m not actually worried, only theoretically worried. The Ministry already inspected it for Dark Magic, and any other kind of magic really. There’s nothing but its own magical resonance. I just like to be thorough,” she said chuckling.

“That is why you are the most capable witch I know,” he said.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes listening to the fire crackling and popping. A light wind rattled against the windows trying to gain entrance. Eventually, the day would wake and they would have to go to classes. Hermione hated to think about all the renewed attention she would be getting. Godric, how long would it be before it reached the papers? She knew Draco wouldn’t fare well in the spotlight. The only thing she could think to do was stand unwaveringly by his side. She dared anyone to say something stupid to her.

“I think we should have breakfast together in the Great Hall. Let’s just face the rumors head-on,” she said.

He laughed. “Oh, my Gryffindor warrior,” he said, “as much as I am thrilled to let the world know that you are mine, I think that now is the time for a bit of Slytherin cunning,” he said. Hermione made a noise of disapproval. “Hear me out. We have nothing to gain by throwing fuel on the fire. Let’s let them guess, then become disinterested. All but the most stubborn will forget about their objections, or at least they will have had time to voice their immediate response to friends, in whispers.”

“They have to get over it sooner or later. We can’t live our lives in fear of their judgments,” she protested.

“You’re right. But we aren’t letting them change anything about us. Just give it a few days, a week. Do you trust me?” he asked. It was unfair.

“I do, of course,” she said, giving in.

“Out there, the world will see what they want to see, but in here,” he squeezed her hand, “here you are mine, and so long as I have you, nothing else matters.” Her resolve softened in the face of his complete openness. She didn’t know whether he was still half-asleep or whether he felt braver under the cover of darkness, but she had hardly heard him speak such sentiments.

He kissed her tenderly, and she forgot what she was fighting for. He was right. Even now she knew that she was his and he was hers and nothing would change that. His hand slid up her thigh, slipping beneath the thin cotton shorts. It was still early, and she yearned for the connection forged through his touch. She shifted, and they lay on the couch, setting their worries free as their hands lifted them to glorious heights.

***

It was Halloween and the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Hermione held Draco’s hand as they walked out of the castle and made their way to Hogsmeade. Few people dared to say anything negative within hearing range. She’d confronted a couple of Ravenclaw sixth years who’d had the nerve to accuse Draco of imperiousing her. She’d seen Theo with his wand out several times, and she suspected Ginny had the whole of Gryffindor House in fear of her bat bogey hex, or worse. Even better, others were beginning to accept it as a matter of course, and nothing had appeared in the papers.

When Hermione and Draco entered the small wizarding village, Ginny was waiting. Hermione kissed Draco goodbye as they parted ways, making him promise to meet her in the Hog’s Head at noon. Then, Hermione followed Ginny to their destination.

They stopped in front of a shop Hermione had never noticed before.

"This is where you wanted to take me?" Hermione said looking at the small sign above the door.

"Welcome to The Magical Muff," said Ginny with a flourish. She was brimming with mischief. "Where you can bibbity bobbity your bush!" she said laughing at the expression on Hermione's face.

"You're ridiculous," said Hermione smiling as Ginny dragged her through the front door and into the small foyer of a surprisingly lavish salon. Her eyes went to the far wall, gold foil wallpaper visible above a pale, creamy wainscotting. A wide, glittering waterfall covered the middle third of the wall. Above them, an elaborate chandelier cast a soft white glow, its many teardrop crystals sparkling overhead.

A cute blonde witch greeted them from behind a high, black paneled counter atop which was a narrow slab of marble.

"Welcome to The Magical Muff, where we will bibbity bobbity your bush!" she said echoing Ginny's introduction in a friendly, but professional way. Ginny gave Hermione a smug look.

"Hi, Lyndsay," said Ginny, apparently on a first-name basis with the witch. "I have my usual appointment with Allie, and I've booked an appointment for Hermione."

"Welcome back, Ginny. Let's see," she said consulting a small black book on the lower counter, "I have Hermione with...Verna," she looked up at them smiling. "It should only be a few minutes. Please make yourselves comfortable," she said, gesturing to the plush leather seats in a nearby corner.

The chairs were soft as butter. When they sat, light refreshments appeared on the table between them. An elegant two-tiered stand was laden with tiny tea sandwiches—triangular watercress, rectangular curried chicken salad, and even a heart-shaped blue cheese and grape Hermione wasn't sure she was daring enough to try. She sipped from one of the crystal tumblers containing surprisingly refreshing cucumber slice infused ice water.

"So what you are going to have done?" Ginny asked. "I hear they do vajazzling if you are looking to make a statement."

"I don't think THAT is the statement I want to make," Hermione replied. She wondered if that was really a thing or if Ginny was having fun with her.

"Well, if you aren't sure, here are some ideas," Ginny said handing Hermione a small brochure detailing services and options.

"Is it painful?" she asked Ginny as she read some of the descriptions.

"Why would it be painful?" Ginny said, puzzled. Hermione explained the muggle method of grooming.

"That's barbaric!" said Ginny. "I think I'd rather go au naturael. It's just a simple spell, followed by a tonic. I've thought it must be easy enough to do myself, but I really don't want to take any chances down there."

"I'm sure you're right," agreed Hermione.

"So," Ginny said in a tone Hermione recognized. She braced herself for whatever was coming next. "It's serious, huh?" said Ginny delving right into the most secret corners of her heart.

Hermione bit into one of the curried chicken salad sandwiches. The raisins gave it a bit of sweetness that was quite nice with the more savory curry. She chewed slowly, enjoying the satisfying crunch of pecans in the otherwise soft sandwich.

"You're stalling," said Ginny biting into the blue cheese and grape sandwich.

"Okay, fine, Ginevra. If you must know, things have gotten physical," she said vaguely.

"Wait, you're actually shagging!" Ginny said.

"Could you be any louder?" Hermione said, looking around but there was no one else. "And no, we haven't gotten that far."

"Well, what are you waiting for? It doesn't have anything to do with my brother, does it?" she said.

"What? No," said Hermione. "I mean, okay, I don't want to rush into anything, though I suppose I already have done. But I just, it's confusing, and I only know that..." Hermione's face burned with the truth of what she was about to admit, "...that this is where I'm supposed to be. Godric that sounds so trite."

"No, I understand," said Ginny, and Hermione knew she was thinking of Harry. "And I sincerely hope you aren't wasting time feeling bad for my brother. You should probably know that he's had no shortage of witches willing to drop their knickers for him since he was featured in Witch Weekly's September issue. They wanted to include Harry, too, but he wasn't interested. You know Harry hates that stuff."

"Oh, well, good for him," said Hermione, shocked but not entirely surprised by this news. "I'm pleased he's...enjoying his time in the spotlight. Though, I did think that he might have wanted to be friends again once he had moved on."

"This is Ron we're talking about," said Ginny sardonically. "Just give it time," she said more gently. "If he manages to get his head out of his arse, he'll come around. And if not, he's an even bigger wanker than I thought."

Just then a pretty, dark-haired witch stepped through the waterfall, which magically parted like a curtain as she walked through.

"Hi, Ginny," she said. "Come on back."

"Good luck!" Ginny said to Hermione as she left.

Hermione looked over the brochure one more time and made a decision.

"Hey, you must be Hermione," said a young witch with a silvery pixie cut and a tiny blue zircon nose ring. "I'm Verna, and I'm going give you the snazzy snatch you've always dreamed of." She laughed a husky laugh that lent a sarcastic tone to her comment, and Hermione relaxed.

"Work your magic," Hermione said, following Verna through the sparkling waterfall and into the dimly lit corridor beyond.

***

When Hermione and Draco walked into the Hog's Head, they were relieved to see that it was mostly empty. An old humpbacked witch sat at the bar, drinking a steaming mug of something that looked to contain floating eyes of newt. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. At a small table just past the bar, a solitary wizard sat, his hood obscuring his face—probably waiting for some unsavory business partner to arrive. Hermione looked in the opposite corner and was surprised to see Neville, Luna, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy sitting at a table chatting like old friends.

"It's about time," said Pansy, as they sat. "We were beginning to think you two—"

"—got lost," said Theo, looking at Pansy who just shrugged and took a drink of butterbeer.

"I thought Ginny said she and Harry would be joining us," said Hermione frowning.

"They will be," said Luna.

"I think I would like a cup of hot tea. Hermione, can I get you something?" Draco asked her.

"A hot butterbeer, please," she said smiling.

"Can I bring anything else?" Draco said to the rest of the table. "Neville, would you like another butterbeer?" he said noting Neville's nearly empty mug.

"Uh, yeah, that would be great, thanks," said Neville. He was still wary, but he was making an effort. Everyone else declined.

"I was hoping to say hello to Aberforth," said Hermione. "Have you seen him?"

"He's here," said Neville brightening up, "went upstairs for something. I expect he'll be back before we leave."

"That's the man who helped evacuate Hogwarts, right?" said Blaise.

"Yes, it is," said Neville, an edge to his voice.

"If only I had a time-turner so we could go back and make a different choice," said Theo.

"It's a Slytherin apology, Neville, take it or leave it," laughed Pansy. Neville nodded.

"Time-turners are incredibly dangerous,” said Hermione. She couldn’t help herself. “Imagine what could happen if they got into the wrong hands. Trust me when I say it's not worth it!” She sincerely hoped it was an empty expression.

"I suppose you're right," said Theo, and Hermione could see the glimmer of an idea fade into oblivion. She wondered what disasters had just been avoided.

"She usually is, mate," said Draco returning with the tankards of butterbeer and his cup of tea.

"Thanks," said Neville offering a small smile.

"There are other ways to time travel, you know," said Luna dreamily. "They don't work the same as time-turners, of course, and they tend to be much more selective about a traveler's passage, but they exist."

"If I could travel back in time,” said Pansy, “I'd definitely go back to the time when I convinced Troy Hughes that his house was haunted by a matchmaking ghost who wouldn't let us leave until we had convinced it we were lovers. What a weekend that was!"

"Since when do you have to trick a man into bed?" said Blaise.

"Oh, he was only too happy to play along. He just needed a little nudge," said Pansy unapologetically.

"I'm sure he had the time of his life," said Neville blushing furiously, and Pansy returned the compliment with a suggestive smile.

"Where's the poor sap now?" said Draco.

"Uni," the rest of the group looked at Pansy as if she had spoken a different language, "someplace called Oxford, I think," Pansy said.

Hermione's eyes grew wide, and Pansy flashed her smile rife with secrets. Hermione kept her mouth shut. Pansy was growing on her.

"Do you mind?" said Luna picking up Draco's empty teacup. "Today is Samhain, after all, and it's traditional to tell fortunes."

"Be my guest," said Draco smiling.

Luna peered into the cup.

"The sun," she beamed as if channeling its warmth. "You will have great happiness. But what's this?"

Hermione felt a prickling sensation as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Luna rotated the cup a fraction. "A falcon," she said frowning.

Hermione looked up, scanning the room beyond their table. A few more wizards had entered. The humpback witch had finished her concoction and left, but the hooded stranger still sat alone. She and her friends were directly in his line of sight. Draco caught her expression and followed her gaze.

Just then Harry and Ginny walked in looking flushed and slightly disheveled. Ginny waved and made her way to the table as Harry walked to the bar.

"Excuse me," said Hermione to no one in particular as she stood from the table and made her way to Harry.

"Hermione!" said Harry hugging her. Then, he turned to the barkeep, "Two hot butterbeers, please."

Hermione felt Draco's arm slide around her, pulling her against him protectively.

"Potter," Draco said in greeting, then to Hermione, "What was that about, love?"

"What's wrong?" said Harry.

"It could be nothing, but I think that wizard has been watching us," she nodded in the direction of the hooded stranger's table.

Harry turned to look. "There's no one there," he said.

"There was," said Draco, "I saw him just before you and Ginny came in.”

"I just had that feeling, Harry," she said, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They had become very attuned to potential danger while on the run. She could see Harry considering it.

"It's possible that some of the escaped Death Eaters might have it out for you," Harry said. "They aren't likely to target Ron or me, but you are more exposed, especially while you are in Hogsmeade."

Hermione felt Draco's grip tighten around her. Harry gave Draco an appraising look. His lack of surprise suggested that Ginny had already told him about the two of them; at this moment, Hermione was surprisingly grateful.

"What can you do to protect her?" Draco asked Harry.

"I'll see if I can track down the stranger, then I'll alert my office about a possible sighting," said Harry.

"I'm going with you," said Draco.

"He's probably long gone by now," said Hermione, but Harry was already gone. Draco moved to follow, but Hermione gripped his arm.

"Stay!" she pleaded. She didn't want him to risk getting into any trouble. Draco studied her, probably trying to discern her motive.

"Hermione," said Draco, ready to argue but Harry was already returning. Hermione wondered what kind of tracking items his team might be using to track the Death Eaters as there was no way he performed a full search in that amount of time.

"He's gone," said Harry, "but I'll ask around, see if anyone can tell me anything."

Harry took the butterbeers to the table, then spent the next ten minutes questioning the few people in Hog's Head.

"Draco, please don't go rushing into trouble like that," said Hermione still standing at the bar with Draco.

"I can't stand by and do nothing," he said, his hand gently squeezing hers. "If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I'd do."

"I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, but I feel a lot safer when you're with me," she said. It was frustrating relying on a feeling, being sure of something you had no evidence to back up. She begrudgingly thought that perhaps she'd been a little unfair to Professor Trelawney, though the woman did have a tendency to sensationalize her skills.

Draco kissed her tenderly. She could feel his reluctant agreement warring with his need for her.

"Ahem," said Harry, and they pulled apart. "I think I may have learned something useful. I'll stay in Hogsmeade until everyone is back at Hogwarts, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any trouble. Malfoy, I expect you can take care of her from there. Not that she needs it!" Harry added when Hermione put her hand on her hip.

As they walked to the table, Hermione realized that Harry's comment was meant as a peace offering for Draco. Neither Draco nor Harry thought her helpless or incapable—they had each proven that in a million small ways. She vowed to get less caught up in automatically defending her independence, and just appreciate their concern for her.

They sat at the table as Harry began filling in the others. After the initial shock and the following questions, they settled into a surprisingly comfortable camaraderie that lasted through the Halloween Feast in the Great Hall and late into the night.


	6. November 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, just wanted to tell you how much I'm enjoying taking this journey with you. Thank you for the kudos and comments--they keep me inspired, which is especially helpful in times like these. I hope you are enjoying this break from reality.

"Do you think I was overreacting?" Hermione asked.

It was just past midnight by the time they had made it back to their rooms, yet Hermione wasn't ready to sleep. She had gone to her room and slipped into a silk dressing gown she had bought earlier that day. When she had walked into his room, Draco had given her an appraising look, turning up the corner of his mouth as he often did and raised a brow in question at the choice.

“No. I think you were being cautious. That’s a good thing, Granger,” said Draco matter-of-factly.

Draco was reclining comfortably against the loveseat, settled on a sheepskin rug that had presumably been his coffee table earlier that day. He patted the ground between his legs, and Hermione made herself comfortable, sighing as she finally began to unwind.

For a while they sat, entranced by the dancing flames. Rain began to tap a steady rhythm at the window, and as Hermione stared at the fire, she could almost picture tiny women in gauzy robes dancing in graceful circles around it. Luna had said something that had been buzzing around in the back of her mind since this afternoon in the Hog's Head; Hermione struggled to recall the words.

"Tired?" Draco asked, freeing Hermione from her trance.

"A bit," she said. The dancers disappeared in tiny wisps of smoke.

“It's been a long day,” Draco said. He must have been reflecting on it.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied.

“Something you care to tell me?” he said, his tone laced with intrigue.

“No,” she said, teasingly. She felt him pull away slightly as he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed.

“Granger, what are you playing at?” he said, smoothly. She could practically hear him trying to figure out the best way to get it out of her. He brushed the hair off her shoulder and kissed the base of her neck lightly.

“Mmmm,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “If you’re trying to punish me for not telling you, it’s not working.” She felt the tip of his tongue slide up to a sensitive spot just below her ear. “Besides,” she said, the word coming out of her mouth like a song, “I thought it would make more sense to show you.”

She stood up and turned to face him.

“Relax,” she said, and he leaned back against the loveseat, giving her a smoldering look that might have made her giggle nervously if she hadn't been steeling herself to do this.

She loosened the tie at her waist and let the dressing gown fall open, revealing a narrow expanse of bare flesh. She stood still, allowing him to look her over slowly.

"Come here, witch," he finally said, his voice husky with desire. She stepped closer.

He reached inside the open gown and pulled her close so that he could nuzzle his face against the triangular patch of hair between her legs.

"Lie down," Draco commanded, eyes blazing with lust.

Hermione obeyed, sinking into the large rug. He straddled her, still fully clothed and kissed her. She pushed up his shirt, then pulled it over his head. Her dressing gown had fallen open, and she pulled him against her, thrilling at the frisson between their bare skin.

Draco planted a kiss between her breasts just below the necklace. Then, his hands spread her legs, and she gasped. He paused, looking up at her, and she nodded, eyes begging him to continue.

He kissed the triangular patch of hair, and then his tongue pushed between her folds and licked, gently flicking her swollen clit.

"Merlin," she said.

He looked up at her. "You never cease to surprise me."

She smiled knowing he had just discovered that not only had she had the rest of the hair down there magically removed, but she had also applied a flavoring tonic that changed based on the preferences of the taster. She didn’t think it was necessary, but Verna had talked her into it.

She closed her eyes as his tongue began to move slowly over her sweet spot, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure. She felt two fingers slide into her as he began sucking and pulling at her bud. She felt her pleasure blossoming, and just before she thought she might fall, he stopped, leaving her at the peak of desire.

She breathed heavily as he kissed her navel, then her breast, teasing the other with his hand. She arched up toward him, her hungry nether mouth in desperate search of him. He kissed her, and she delighted in the taste of cherries on his lips, vaguely wondering if that's what he had tasted.

"Draco, I need you," she said, breathlessly. Draco looked at her then, a forlorn lock of white-blonde hair falling away from the rest. And there it was, the blazing look she'd seen that day in the shower. It was too much.

She pulled at the zipper of his trousers, and before she could understand what happened, they were off. She felt his cock, heavy against her abdomen. She reached between them taking him in her hand and marveling at the silken skin of his organ. She guided him between her legs, bathing the tip with her fluids.

He looked into her eyes as he removed her hand from his cock and lifted it above her head. He pinned her wrist, and then the other, restraining her outstretched arms with only one of his hands. The muscles in his arm stood out in beautiful definition, and she made a small sound of appreciation. His other hand guided his cock inside her, easing into her, stretching and sliding slowly until he had buried the length of it between her legs. She tightened her muscles around him, and he let out a groan. He moved slowly, in then out, still pinning her arms until she was driven mad with the need to touch him.

She lifted up toward him, catching his mouth in a feverish kiss, and he released her. She thrust her hips to meet him as his cock moved in and out massaging her in a way that was deeply fulfilling. The rapturous look on his face told her he was enjoying it every bit as much as she was.

He slowed his movements, shifting them. He sat on his knees and leaned back, lifting her hips to meet him. She grasped tufts of the soft, white fur beneath her. Then he was moving inside her again. From this position, his cock hit notes that reverberated through her entire body. She could feel her pleasure crescendo as he began to move faster. And then she was overcome as every cell in her body sang in joyous chorus, her own voice joining in concert.

Finally, Hermione pulled away, Draco’s cock still hard with unspent desire. She climbed into his lap, careful to allow him entrance. He kissed her and pushed the gown off her shoulders. She began to rock her hips into him, slow at first then fast as her pleasure built again. His arms were tight around her waist, and he kissed her throat.

"Oh!" she cried, as another orgasm washed over her. She was careful to keep a steady rhythm, wanting only to drive him to his own release. Finally, he moaned, semen evaporating inside her almost as soon as it was released.

He kissed her long and hard, neither moving to separate. She felt him soften and slide out of her, causing aftershocks to ripple through her body.

They woke sometime in the middle of the night wanting more. This time, they moved slowly, patiently toward climax, savoring every touch. And when they finally fell back to sleep, it was a deep, peaceful slumber, each inextricably tangled with the other.

***

"Must we eat breakfast in the Great Hall?" Draco said as they walked away from the suits of armor down the empty corridor. He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers in tacit agreement whatever he said to the contrary.

"No," she said. "I'd like to sit with Ginny and Luna, but you are more than welcome to stay up here and breakfast with your friends, they'll stay behind if you ask them to." They had given up trying to be discreet. It had served them well at first, though Hermione was reluctant to admit that Draco had been right about it, but there was no point in hiding now everyone knew.

"You know perfectly well I'm not going to do that," he said. "Blaise will never let me hear the end of it, and I like to watch you read the paper in the morning."

"You what?" she said, laughing.

"You heard me," he retorted.

"I cannot imagine what could be so interesting that you would be willing to give up the privacy of our common room," she said.

"That's because you can't see your expressions when you read. I hardly have to read the paper at all after that—your face says everything," Draco said.

"I do not emote when I read!" she said, trying to appear outraged when she only felt self-conscious. Her words echoed in the stairwell.

"And when you get really worked up about it," he continued, mercilessly, "you mutter to yourself. It's much more fun to watch now that we sit at the same table."

"Draco Malfoy! You are insufferable," she said, bumping into his arm playfully.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell. Draco pinned her against the wall with his body and leaned in close, his cheek just barely touching hers.

"Am I?" his voice was low, breath hot against her neck. She felt her skin prickle. His hand found its way inside her robes, and he pushed up her skirt.

"I think not," he said when he finally removed his hand from her knickers. He smoothed down her skirt and pulled her robes straight again, leaving her whole body buzzing with tension.

"Oh, don't you dare think you're just going to walk away now!" she said, grabbing his tie and pulling him into a kiss, which he returned with interest. If they kept this up, they would end up skipping breakfast and going back upstairs.

"Oh, get a room!" said Pansy.

"I don't know why the two of you ever bother to leave the bedroom in the first place," Blaise teased.

"One does have to eat," said Hermione, taking it in stride. She could see that Draco hadn't heard them approaching either, and if he hadn't just been teasing her, she might have felt bad about the erection she knew he was hiding beneath his robes. She raised a brow suggestively, and he scowled.

Pansy laughed. "Oh, Hermione. All this time I thought you were such a prude! I'm so glad I came back this year," she said. Hermione accepted the compliment that was buried in the comment.

"I don't know about the rest of you," said Theo, "but I intend to eat breakfast before classes."

He pushed through them, and Hermione mouthed a silent thank you as he passed with a covert nod. Pansy and Blaise followed.

Hermione kissed Draco, who was still sulking, though for all appearances he appeared to have been watching the proceedings with disdain.

"I'll make it up to you later," she whispered in his ear. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the Entrance Hall.

Heads turned when they walked. Though more and more the looks were as much awe—some of which Hermione had to credit to the stunning good looks of the three Slytherins ahead of her—as they were of morbid interest or, worse, utter contempt. Only one student, a Ravenclaw, had made the mistake of accusing Draco of using an Unforgivable Curse within hearing shot of Hermione. Hermione had corrected him quickly and fiercely, appreciating the concern, but rejecting the outright intolerance of a man they only saw through the lens of his past. No one had done it again, though she was sure it was said behind closed doors. Not much she could do about that, though.

The looks only grew more pronounced when they sat with the rest of the group—Ginny, captain of the undefeated quidditch team and a fierce beauty in her own right, Luna, whose brilliance in divination and general outlook on life had earned her begrudging praise bordering on worship, Neville, war hero that he was and quite unlike the round-faced boy she'd met in first year, and Hannah, the pretty and pragmatic Hufflepuff who would never tolerate mistreatment of herself or her friends.

"Granger," said Draco, "where have you gone? An owl just dropped a letter in your milk, which I've removed and dried, and your Daily Prophet now has butter and jam on one side."

"What? Oh," she blushed, "I was just thinking how nice it is that we are all sitting at the Slytherin table like a group of old friends." She supposed she was being rather sentimental, but it was a moment she had captured in her mind, a bright spot she knew would always characterize this time of her life.

"It's too early, Granger," he said flatly, but he was smiling.

Hermione buttered and jammed a new piece of toast, and picked up the paper giving Draco a pointed look as he chuckled.

"Hogsmeade Lead Goes Nowhere" read the headline on the front page. Hermione scanned the story, trying to pull the key points. She already knew Harry and his team had done a thorough follow-up on the sighting in Hogsmeade a week-and-a-half ago. Maybe the paper shouldn't be printing so much information on an open search. Would they ever learn? She rolled her eyes. There was a new sighting not far from Hogsmeade, which surprised her. Harry hadn't mentioned it, though she supposed it wasn't wise for him to be putting things like that in a letter. But then near the end, she was mentioned by name.

"A wise witch has to wonder if she hasn't made it all up. Has she wilted in her time outside the spotlight these recent months? Or is she desperately seeking attention from Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor, Ronald Weasley?"

There was more, but she couldn't read another word. "That jumped up cow!" she said through clenched teeth. It had been written by Rita Skeeter. Seems she'd taken a short break from writing her ridiculous biographies just so she could take a dig at Hermione.

"What is it, love?" Draco said quietly. She knew she would hear teasing later as she realized he had been absolutely right about her paper reading habits, but she didn't care right now.

"I...ooh, she doesn't learn!" Hermione sputtered. "Just...just read it." She handed him the paper; he had to uncrumple it to read the story.

"I see," he said when he'd finished reading. "That is most unfortunate for Rita Skeeter. Take a deep breath and keep in mind that no one believes a word she writes. Just you wait, tomorrow there will be a flood of reader letters in your defense."

"She had better hope I don't run into her in a dark alley," she said to Draco, still fuming. "If she didn't like the inside of a jam jar, she certainly won't like what I have in mind for her now!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" said Draco, utterly confused. She realized he never knew about her history with Rita, at least not all of it.

"Remind me to tell you about it tonight. It's a long story," Hermione said. She took a deep breath. Draco was right, she shouldn't let herself get so riled up over a stupid article, even if Ron might be gloating over it. Another deep breath. She was not going to go down that path either.

"How about I walk you to class, and you tell me all about that pathetic excuse for a journalist on the way?" he said enticingly.

She stuffed the unread letter in her bag and took one last bite of her toast.

"How well do you remember her articles during the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione asked. She waved a quick goodbye to Ginny, Luna, and Neville who were discussing some Herbology lesson.

Hermione slipped her hand in Draco’s as he stood, and began her story. She found that instead of being disappointed by his inability to have an immediate reference for her reaction, she rather enjoyed telling the story to a new audience, one who was unquestionably on her side. She relaxed and her anger flit away with every word she spoke. By the time she had arrived at class, she had forgotten all about the letter in her bag.

“Professor Flitwick,” Hermione said after Charms class had ended.

“Yes, my dear?” said the tiny Charms professor.

“I was wondering if you might be able to give me extra instruction on reversing memory charms. I’ve done plenty of reading, of course, but I could really use some practical instruction,” she explained.

“Certainly. Are you considering pursuing a career as a healer?” he asked, “You could do a lot of good with your skills.”

“I have considered it, Professor,” Hermione said, “but my interest is primarily for personal use at this time.”

“Of course,” Professor Flitwick said. “If you’d like, dear, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey and Healer Moneta wouldn’t object to allowing you to hone your skills under their careful observation. Merlin knows there are enough students in need of help this year.”

“Thank you, Professor,” said Hermione.

"Draco," said Hermione that evening. She set down her quill.

"Hmm?" said Draco absently, still writing. They were in the library. She watched him for a moment admiring his ability to focus so intensely on the task before him. She felt a tingle run up her spine as she thought about how it felt when she was on the receiving end of that intensity.

"Was there something you were going to ask me, or did you want to watch me a bit longer?" he said, still writing. He was smirking.

"Arse," she said.

"What's on your mind? Besides me," said Draco, flashing her a provocative smile.

Hermione shook her head; he was incorrigible.

"Do you ever wish you could forget any of it?" she finally asked. Draco's smile fell away. He opened his mouth slightly, as if he wanted to answer but wasn't sure how to respond.

"In my most tortured moments, I’ve wished that none of it had ever happened," he said.

She understood that; she had thought it, too.

"But," he continued, "to answer your question, no, I don't wish to forget. Terrible as the memories are—they haunt me—I prefer to keep them.” Hermione was surprised. Why would he ever choose to remember such atrocities? “They remind me who I am and who I want to be.” he answered her unspoken question; she must have worn it on her face. Then after a beat, he said, “Would you do it? Forget it all?"

"When you put it that way...no, I don’t suppose I would," she said. They sat quietly for a moment, examining memories they’d consider putting on the chopping block. It was too horrific an exercise, and Hermione ceased.

"I think I've done as much as I can tonight. Are you ready to leave?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded. The air was heavy as a leaden blanket while they packed up their things. She slipped her hand into his, needing the physical connection—it forged a conduit that allowed her to interpret his silence. He was brooding.

The castle was dark. Torches kindled then extinguished as they walked the corridors. When they passed through the door in the Entrance Hall, they were draped in darkness. There was one torch midway up the stairwell, but its feeble light barely reached them.

"Draco," she said, pulling him to a halt. A primal need had grown as they walked, and she could think of nothing other than connecting with him in the deepest way possible. She cast a silent muffling spell.

"Yes, love?" he said. He sounded tired. She knew that some part of him was battling to escape the hell that she had so carelessly thrown him into.

She dropped her bag, then pressed her palm to his cheek brushing his lips with her thumb. "I said I'd make up for this morning," she said quietly.

“This morning?” he said, as if he were trying to remember.

Then, she kissed him. She heard his bag hit the floor. Something shattered, probably his inkwell. No matter, they would clean it up later.

He grabbed her arse and pulled her against him, his growing desire pressing into her. His hands lifted her skirt and pushed her knickers down her thighs. She shimmied out of them, then fumbled with his belt, and finally undid his trousers, letting everything fall to the ground.

Draco lifted her up then, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he fell back against the wall behind him. She vaguely wondered how this had seemed so effortless in her dream; but, of course, they would have had years to perfect the technique. She shushed the analytical voice in her head.

Hermione reached down and guided him inside her. She moved her hips against him stimulating her sensitive spot, and moaned. Was there anything better than this feeling? She pressed her knees into the wall and used it as leverage as she began to lift so that his cock massaged her from the darkest depths to her entrance before dropping onto him. She did it again, and then again. He ripped her shirt and popped a breast into his mouth biting her harder than she had expected. She slammed against him once more, the pain mingling deliciously with the pleasure.

"Godric!" she moaned. She thrust her hips, grinding hard against him. She continued until she came with the force of an autumn gale, her cries lashing out indiscriminately.

When her head cleared, Draco relaxed his grip, and she slid off him.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said in a low growl. He wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his mouth against hers, tongue pushing into her forcefully. And then she was up against the wall. He turned her around and pressed his body against hers. She felt the cool stones against her bare breasts, the contrast with his warm body sending pleasurable chills through her.

He lifted her skirt, and then he was inside her with one well-aimed thrust. He slid in and out of her, and then his hand reached around finding her clit.

"Yes!" she cried. He moved faster, and she lost all thought as his touch sent waves of pleasure through her. He thrust again, twice, three times, and then she felt him spilling into her, his own orgasm escaping in a low moan.

He leaned against her, heavy with post-coital fatigue, then kissed the nape of her neck. It was gentle, tender. He turned her around and kissed her, his mouth soft against hers now they were sated.

"If you keep at this, we will never get out of here," Hermione said, feeling her desire re-kindling.

"You're insatiable," he teased.

He repaired the buttons on her shirt with a simple nonverbal spell and then buttoned it up by hand.

"Can you blame me?" she said.

“No,” said Draco.

They cleaned up and made their way upstairs, where she knew they would take each other again and again until there was nothing left to give.

***

Hermione didn't remember the letter until Sunday morning. She had left her Daily Prophet unread in pointless boycott for days. For whatever reason, this morning’s paper reminded her of the letter. She dug around her school bag and pulled out a creased roll of parchment paper, then she curled up in her window seat and sat in the glow of the sun, though the air was cold, and read.

Here and there were splotches of ink from Draco's broken inkwell. She could read most of the letter, and would most likely be able to fill in the blanks. There was no greeting.

"I've been expecting to hear from you for months and nothing, not even congratulations on my feature in Witch Weekly."

Ron. She sighed heavily, knowing what was coming and, thankfully, understanding that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.

"(I would have thought you of all people would be happy for me). I'm not writing this to ask you to take me back, I've moved on.

“What I really want to know is why I had to find out from *splotch* that you are dating Malfoy (yeah, I am on the *splash* case, too, in case you didn't know). Draco Malfoy, Hermione! What the bloody hell are you thinking? Is THIS why you broke up with me? And more importantly, how can you say you can't marry your best friend and then turn around and shag that Death *splatter* *splotch*? After everything he did do you, to us, to *splash*! I don't even know who you are anymore. You said you wanted to be friends, but I just don't think I can be friends with someone who is a *splotch* to Draco Malfoy."

“I just want you to know—”

But she would never know what it was because the rest of that paragraph was soaked in ink.

"signed, your ex-best friend, Ron"

She screamed in frustration, then threw her door open and marched toward the Gryffindor Common room, the letter crumpled in her fist. Heads turned as she passed, but she paid them no mind. She hardly saw a single face.

By the time she had entered the Gryffindor Common Room, her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She took a deep breath then spotted Ginny sitting in a corner chatting with Luna.

She inhaled, preparing to vent her frustration, but Ginny interrupted.

"Why don't we head to my dorm room? Luna, you are more than welcome to join us," Ginny said. Hermione exhaled loudly.

The three of them went upstairs. When they were in the room, Ginny closed the door. The three of them sat on Ginny’s bed.

"What did Ron do now?" said Ginny.

Hermione thrust the letter into Ginny's hands. Ginny read it aloud for Luna's benefit.

"The nerve!” said Hermione the moment Ginny finished reading. “I haven't written because I wanted to give him some space!" said Hermione, trying not to shout.

"I know. We talked about it, remember?" said Ginny.

"I didn't see HIM making any effort to contact me. That—" said Hermione.

"Wanker? Knob head? Arsehole?" Ginny supplied.

Hermione laughed, releasing the tension that was starting to become a literal pain in her neck.

"Something like that. He has no right to speak to me that way," she said, getting angry again.

"I agree. But, just for fun, let’s try to hear what he is actually trying to say. I'm going to properly translate this for you," said Ginny. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice in imitation of Ron.

"Dearest Hermione," she started reading in the Ron voice.

"For months I've been pining over you. I'm really sad that I've lost you, even though I'm now trying to prove that a large quantity of women can replace a single quality one (thanks to the help of Witch Weekly). Remember when you used to help me figure things out? I sure could use some help now (especially with writing this letter)," Ginny/Ron said, stifling a laugh. Ginny took a deep breath, then forged on.

"When I was helping with the Hogsmeade investigation, I found out that you were with Malfoy, which I assume means that you've been seeing him. This really hurts my feelings (yes, I am capable of feeling more than just hunger)," Ginny giggled uncontrollably, then cleared her throat and continued.

"I already feel rejected, and then you go and choose to be with our mortal enemy, a Death Eater I still think is entirely responsible for Dumbledore's death. I don't understand it, and I still miss you, and it makes me angry and sad, and I don't know what to do about it. I was secretly hoping you'd change your mind, but it's clear now that will never happen. I need a lot more time before I can be okay with being just your friend. And I don’t know if I can ever be okay with you and Malfoy.

Love always,  
Your dunderhead of an ex-boyfriend"

Hermione knew Ginny was trying to lighten the mood a little, but Ginny's interpretation broke her heart. She wished Ron could just say it that way, instead of being such an arse about it.

"That was lovely, Ginny," said Luna. "I have a feeling he will come around, Hermione. Everybody knew that the two of you were better off as friends. He will figure it out, too."

Hermione sighed.

"You two really know how to push each other's buttons," said Ginny.

"Yes, well, I used to think it was passion, but now I know better," Hermione said.

"Do you?" said Ginny, smiling. Hermione blushed. "Do tell."

"I only meant that I realize now that vehement disagreement is not the same as passion and it’s certainly not true love," said Hermione. "What we had was only annoyance because we were trying to force something that wasn't really there and neither of us were truly happy. I wish he could just admit it to himself."

Ginny laughed. "You do know this is Ron we're talking about? It would have to hit him over the head several times before he acknowledged it."

"Sometimes outward similarities push us toward someone that isn't a true match," said Luna. "Just like surface differences can keep us away from someone who has the potential to be our one true partner." Luna smiled knowingly.

Hermione fell backward on Ginny's bed. "Ugh. Why does it have to be so complicated?"

"Well, you are sort of dating an ex-Death Eater. I know he's changed! But not everyone has had the chance to see his true colors like we have these last few months. It's not going to get any easier," she said.

"I know," said Hermione, whinging a bit. "But would it be too much to ask for things to be simple for a change?"

"There, there," said Ginny, patting Hermione's hand. "Let's have some tea, then you can tell us all about the passionate love you are making to one Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione pulled a pillow over her face and let out a small scream.

"Ooh, that good?" said Ginny, eyes wide with excitement. Hermione threw the pillow at Ginny, but her Chaser instincts were too good and she dodged it easily.

The three of them spent the next hour chatting and laughing about everything, except Draco Malfoy.

When Hermione got back to her room, she found Draco sitting on her couch, reading a book.

"She returns," Draco said.

"Well, of course I was going to return," she said drily, her sense of humor not fully restored.

"It would have been a much better morning if you hadn't left at all," he said.

Hermione collapsed on the couch next to him, accidentally sitting on the discarded book. She picked it up and arched a brow at him.

"Pride and Prejudice?" she said.

"You did say I could read it," he reminded her.

"So I did. I'm just surprised you actually took the recommendation. No one ever does," Hermione said. She was wallowing now, and that was unacceptable.

"Their mistake," he said. "Now, stop trying to change the subject and tell me what sent you on a rampage," he said. He was never one to be easily distracted.

"It was just a stupid letter," Hermione said.

"Who do I need to kill?" he said. Draco narrowed his eyes, and Hermione widened hers.

"I was kidding, Granger," said Draco. "But now I'm curious. I'm not asking you to show it to me, but you do know we can talk about it if it's bothering you."

"It's, well, it was a letter from Ron," she admitted. She looked up at him. His mouth was flattened in a thin line and his eyes flashed dangerously. "Draco, this isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't," he said.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling the situation myself," she told him.

"Oh, that was never a question," he said. "No. I had something more along the lines of payback in mind. What is the expression? An eye for an eye? Or perhaps I'll take the whole head."

"Stop it!" she said, reaching the peak of frustration with the males in her life. She could hear him plotting something stupid. And while she was reasonably sure he wouldn't actually do something dangerous, she didn't rule out his ability to find a way to get to Ron without it being traced back to him. As angry as she was with Ron, she didn’t actually wish him harm. And she certainly didn’t want Draco putting himself at risk like that.

"I just hate to see him hurt you," Draco said, seriously. His eyes softened, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "He's done enough of that," Draco continued, "Stupid git didn't know what he had. I suppose I should be thanking him, actually."

"There's the spirit," said a tired Hermione. She rested her head against his shoulder. Godric, this was exhausting. She pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"Just promise me you won't go and do something that will get you thrown in Azkaban," she said.

He took the letter from her hands, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it behind the couch. Hermione laughed.

"I had something better in mind," he said.

"Finishing Chapter 3?" she teased.

He pulled her into his lap and kissed her roughly.

"Actually, I thought I might help you finish something. I find you unquestionably tolerable and more than handsome enough to tempt me," he said, surprising her with a reference to the book.

“You flatter me,” she said sarcastically, but the bookworm in her thrilled at the foreplay, and her frustrations began to fade away.

Draco smiled mischievously and then pinned her down on the sofa. He began to kiss and tease, hardly letting her move at all. His smile grew wider and more wicked as she squirmed beneath him, until finally he relented, smiling as she pulled him close.

Draco’s zeal filled her heart to the point of aching. She pushed away regret for the lost years knowing that nothing could have come of it—not when they were children and the entire universe was set against them. She was unspeakably grateful for their ability to chart their own course now, even in the face of great obstacles. They were free to live and love as they pleased, and that was something to celebrate. Hermione took the helm with renewed enthusiasm, and let her frustration over her challenges bob harmlessly past her. Whatever storms may come, they would ride them out together.

And with that, they fell into a familiar rhythm, masterfully commanding their desire as wave after wave crested over them.

That evening, Hermione fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Wrapped securely in Draco’s embrace, she drifted peacefully to sleep.

~~~

_"Reservation for Potter party of six," said Harry to the hostess. She had an exotic look to her, maybe it was her dark upturned eyes shining like polished onyx, or her high cheekbones and full lips, or perhaps it was the way her chic black dress hung on her tall, narrow frame._

_"Follow me," she said, unsmiling. She led the group through the narrow restaurant, her heels clicking on the dark wood floors. Tables were perched in rows on four long platforms that ran the length of the space. The restaurant had a dark elegance that gave the space a subtle intimacy. The high, arched ceiling boasted a magnificent mural of the constellations in the night sky, and strings of dimly lit light bulbs made her think of candles floating in the Great Hall. In fact, she was startled by the overall resemblance to their old dining hall._

_"Your table," said the hostess gesturing to a table overlooking the Thames river. It was elegantly set—crisp white linens draped the table, crystal stemware sparkled in the candlelight, and hammered metal silverware glinted in a high-polish. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn between their table and the one next to them, giving them some privacy._

_"This place is gorgeous!" Hermione said to Harry._

_Draco pulled out one of the upholstered wingback chairs and waited for Hermione to sit._

_"What did you say it was called?" asked Ron, leaving an empty seat next to Draco and sitting in the chair adjacent._

_"Un-Thamed," said Harry sitting opposite Ron._

_“That reminds me of someone I know,” said Ron, smiling._

_"Speaking of, where is your better half?" Draco said to Ron._

_"Probably in the loo again," said Ron. "I don't know why they call it morning sickness; it lasts all day long."_

_"Ugh, I don't miss those days!" said Ginny._

_"Who's watching the kids tonight?" Hermione said turning to Ginny, who was sitting next to her. Ron, Draco, and Harry began commiserating about the woes of pregnancy._

_"They're with Mum," said Ginny. "They love going to The Burrow. We were going to ask Victoire to watch them, but she had a date."_

_Draco, Ron, and Harry were laughing hard._

_"And then," said Draco, "she says, 'Call a cab, we need to get to the hospital now!'"_

_"It's been years since I've been pregnant, must you always bring that up?" said Hermione, knowing Draco was telling the same old story about the time she used a summoning spell to locate the wand in her hand and then promptly forgot that she was a witch. Pregnancy brain was a real problem, no matter how amusing they found it._

_"Love, it's just that it's so uncharacteristic of you," said Draco, smoothly._

_"Mmmhmm," she said, but she was smiling. Draco kissed her, a peace offering she happily accepted._

_"Oh, get a room!" said a woman's voice. Ron stood to help her safely onto the platform. She wore a black sheath dress covered in a scalloped lace that brushed the tops of her knees, the lacy crew neck and cap sleeves only added to the overall sexiness of the dress. She certainly did not look three months pregnant._

_"Feeling okay, kitten?" Ron said to Pansy._

_"Surprisingly good," Pansy said, kissing Ron rather longer than one might do at the dinner table. "I just had to powder my nose. Thanks, Ginger Snap," Pansy said in a simpering voice as Ron pulled out the empty seat between himself and Draco so that Pansy might take a seat._

_Pansy turned to Draco and air-kissed his cheek. "Good to see you, darling," Pansy said to Draco. She looked past Draco to Hermione and said, "I knew you could convince him to come. Not hard to imagine how you pulled that off." She raised her brows suggestively, and Ron and Harry groaned._

_"Enough of that. You lot are like a bunch of teenagers," said Ginny._

_"Says the woman with three children," said Pansy._

_Ginny shrugged. "Who wants a glass of Syrah? I’m thinking of ordering a bottle," Ginny asked, smiling wickedly at Pansy._

_"Bitch," said Pansy to Ginny._

_"Trollop," Ginny riposted, and they both burst out laughing._

_"Good of Dudley to invite you to his grand opening," Hermione said to Harry._

_"He even put us on the VIP list," said Harry._

_Just then a handsome young man showed up with a bottle of wine. Did he only employ models? Hermione figured that it was standard for a posh London restaurant._

_"Compliments of the chef," said the sommelier._

_"Remind me to thank Dudley later, he's remembered my favorite!" said Ginny._

Hermione woke smiling in the middle of the night. She slid her arm around Draco as he continued sleeping next to her, and fell back to sleep thinking that everything might be okay after all.

***

November droned on in a monotonous rhythm of classes and studying. Hermione had thrown herself into her work, preferring it to thinking of the drama with Ron or her increasing longing to see her parents, especially as the holidays loomed. It was a distraction from the implications of whispers that stopped when she was in hearing range of a conversation and especially from the nagging concern about some hooded stranger who may or may not wish her harm. She had no space left in her head to worry about the necklace and certainly not to wonder about her mysterious appearance in Avebury, though, at her core, she felt a growing unease; it was rather like standing on the shore watching the water recede as a tsunami gains strength in the distance.

She was so far ahead in her homework and had done so much extra work already that she was running out of things to occupy her mind. Her sessions with Flitwick were coming along nicely and she had even spent a little bit of time in the hospital wing as he had suggested—Madam Pomfrey was more than happy to put her to work and even to teach her some very useful healing spells. Hermione wished she had known some of these things the year before, but she quickly pushed that thought from her mind—it did her no good to dwell on it for often she felt she was drowning beneath the weight of it all.

Hermione felt more grateful than ever to be surrounded by friends, and even greater still for the pure joy she experienced in Draco’s company. It’s why she had turned in early on the last Friday evening in November after a long week—a long month, really—to seek him out. She walked through the tapestry into his room, not bothering to announce herself, and stepped into Draco’s bedroom just as he was pulling off his shirt.

She stopped short, horrified by the sight of his back, the left side of which was almost entirely covered in a purple and yellow bruise that could easily be mistaken for a large tattoo of a supernova. She backed out of the room quietly, pressing her hand over her mouth to stifle the pain threatening to escape in audible catharsis. When she was safely out of sight, she leaned against the wall and let the tears fall freely. She thought about going back to her room and staying there until she was more composed, but her body refused to comply. She was rooted to the spot, waiting in helpless shock for Draco to discover her.

Moments later, he did. “Hermione?” said Draco. She just stared at him, tears still flowing, searching his face for an explanation, but none came. His surprise quickly gave way to concern. “How long have you been standing there, love?” He cupped her face and brushed her tears away. More spilled over.

He pulled her into his arms, and all she could think about was how ridiculous it was that he was comforting her when it was clearly he who was in need of attention.

“Were you going to tell me about it?” she said, her face buried in his chest.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said, stroking her hair. “I can see now that having you find out this way was much worse. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she said, confounded by his apology. “Draco, you’ve clearly been injured. You shouldn’t be apologizing. What happened?”

“It’s nothing—” he started.

“That is NOT nothing!” she said, growing angry at the realization that someone had most certainly done this to him.

“You’re right. Of course,” he said. “I had a bit of a run-in with a couple students, sevenths years probably. They took me by surprise on the way to Herbology; knocked the wind out of me. I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say, Theo caught up and scared them away before they could do any serious damage. Please stop looking at me like that.”

She had pulled back and was staring at him with a mixture of anger, pity, and horror. She took a deep breath then relaxed as much as she could.

“I really thought that they were beginning to accept us and you,” she said. “I haven’t heard a stupid comment in weeks.”

“Love, they don’t make comments when you can hear. They wipe their expressions when you look. I think it’s part respect and part fear—you have no idea how scary you can be when you get angry. But they don’t extend that courtesy to me. Can you blame them?” he asked her.

“Yes, I bloody well can!” she said. “I don’t care what they think you did. They have no idea and even if they did, they have no right. It makes them every bit as bad as they think you to be. Ooh, wait until McGonagall hears about this.”

“No,” Draco said firmly. “She will not hear of this.”

“But—” she protested.

“Please,” he said. His mind was made up, and she couldn’t refuse him when he looked at her that way, when he made a simple request instead of an argument.

“Would you at least go see Madam Pomfrey?” she asked.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” he said.

“Please,” she insisted. “I would feel better if you just have her make sure nothing is broken or ruptured.”

He exhaled loudly. “Alright. For your sake, I will go.”

“Thank you,” she said. She kissed him. “I’ll see you in a bit then.”

“Now?” he said, incredulous.

“How much longer are you going to wait?” she said. “That bruise is not fresh. Godric knows how long you’ve been walking around with a potentially serious injury.”

“Fine. I’ll go now.”

And with that, he walked back to his room to change into his clothes. She knew he was angry; he didn’t say a word, not even goodbye. But before he walked out the door, he stopped to kiss her briefly and look deeply into her eyes in a way that made her feel weak in the knees. As he walked out the door, she felt the thread of their connection tug and stretch but never break.

She went back to her room, but she couldn’t stand to be there alone, especially not now. She changed into leggings and the oversized jumper Draco hated, then took a book down to the common room. Perhaps now she would finally read in one of the cozy alcoves. Draco was just walking out the door as she entered on the opposite side of the room. It was quiet. Most of the students had gone to their rooms, though she thought she could hear low voices in the loft.

The fire was burning low, and instead of walking to a reading nook, her feet carried her to a sofa near the fireplace where Theo sat alone.

For a moment, they sat in silence and she enjoyed feeling the warmth of the fire seep through her clothes.

“How long has it been going on?” Hermione asked him, but she was still looking at the fire.

Only the fire answered, a low breathy rumble as it burned. She turned to look at Theo. He had a shrewd look, as if trying to assess her readiness to hear the truth.

“For weeks,” he answered. “It was only insults and rude looks before, but it’s gotten worse since Hogsmeade—verbal threats and now this. They can’t stand to see him taking advantage of their heroine. According to rumors, he’s using everything from amortentia to dark magic to ensnare you in his web. It’s nonsensical really; they obviously know nothing of how these things work,” said Theo. But as to which things he was vague.

Hermione felt awful. She had been so intent on forcing their acceptance that she hadn’t thought of how it might affect Draco. She was foolish to have thought she could spare him from their hatred. She supposed that in the minds of many of the students, Draco had come to represent all that they had fought against. They were only too happy to have a target for the rage that spewed from their neglected pain. But their contempt was for something much larger than the grey-eyed man who stood before them in repentance. He could never make up for all the terrible things that had been done, they weren’t his to atone for. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again.

“Why didn’t he tell me sooner?” she said, finally settling for the simplest question, the one that bothered her most.

“Don’t you know?” he said, looking at her as if it were so obvious she must be joking. “He loves you. He didn’t want you to hurt on his behalf.”

She supposed some part of her already knew this. She let the tears fall again, feeling very much like a leaky faucet and hating it.

“They can’t get away with it,” Hermione said, overwhelmed with the injustice, feeling helpless to do anything to stop what had been happening right under her nose.

“Oh, they haven’t,” Theo said, darkly. “Rest assured, no one will ever touch him again.”

She felt a sort of cold satisfaction to know that some form of justice had been carried out, but she didn’t dare ask for details. She just hoped Draco hadn’t been involved.

“Draco has no idea,” said Theo anticipating her next question.

“Just as well,” she said, knowing that it was much better for him to have plausible deniability on the off chance that someone did try to link something to him.

“Can I ask you something?” Hermione said, breaking the silence that had fallen.

He nodded. “Well, your father—” she started.

“—was a Death Eater,” Theo said.

“Is it the same for you?” she wondered.

“I’ve had my share of hate,” Theo said candidly, “but nothing near what Draco has experienced. I never became a Death Eater, because unlike Draco, I despised my father.”

They sat in silence again.

“He can handle it, you know,” Theo spoke again. “You don’t need to fight his battles. Just continue to stand by his side; it gives him strength. He would kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but you should know. And now I really should call it a night. Goodbye,” he nodded as he rose from his spot, then walked toward the dorms.

“Goodnight,” said Hermione. For a while, Hermione just sat there. Her tears had dried and she felt tired.

Soon, thoughts began to whisper in her ear: quiet doubts, vicious lies, sad stories. She picked up the book Harry had given her and walked to the nearest alcove. It was quiet, and when she entered, three floating candles flickered on. She piled up the pillows, then made herself comfortable on the bench, leaning against the wall and propping up her feet, knees bent. She cracked open her book, enjoying the sound of the spine stretching open, then let the words on the page drown the thoughts filling her head.

Hermione awoke in Draco’s arms. He pushed her bedroom door open and carried her toward her bed. She looked up at him, marveling at the serene look on his face. She could see a short ashen stubble along his jaw and found she rather liked the look. Of course, he could have grown a full beard and long hair and she would undoubtedly find him irresistibly alluring. He set her gently on the bed.

“Don’t leave me,” she said, worried that he might still be angry. This was the closest they had ever come to quarreling and she didn’t know what to expect.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco replied, putting her at ease. He sat next to her.

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” she told him. Sorry for what he had been going through, sorry she had been so strong-willed and blind, sorry for the way her reaction had made things more difficult.

“Don’t apologize,” he told her.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, love,” he said.

“You wasted your time,” she said, wanting to apologize again, but resisting.

“No. You were right. I had a ruptured spleen,” said Draco. “Madam Pomfrey said it’s a good thing I came when I did...” he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air not wanting to alarm her further.

“How were you not in terrible pain?” she said.

“I thought it was just muscle pain. I took a potion and forgot about it...until you reminded me,” he said quietly.

“And now?” she asked.

He pulled off his shirt and turned around. The bruise was gone. “I’m fine.”

Her jumper landed on the floor next to him and he turned to look at her, an amused smile on his face.

“Good,” she said. “So there’s nothing to keep you from climbing into bed with me right now.”

“There’s nothing,” he said, “that could keep me away from you, ever.”


	7. December 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on in December! So, I've decided to split it into two chapters for easier reading. Enjoy the first installment. The next half will be posted next week.

December 1998 (Part 1)

December rolled in with gray clouds and a biting wind that boasted of snow to come. Hermione imagined the weather as a direct rebuttal to the white-hot rage that simmered just below her calm exterior.

Hermione sat beneath a tree near the black lake, willfully ignoring the freezing breeze skating over the lake's surface. She hated feeling helpless. So, she did the only thing that ever made sense to her when she couldn't do anything else, she wrote.

Harry had sent her a lovely dragonhide journal that she hadn't yet used. She was curious about what, if any, magical properties it might have and figured the best way to discover them was to simply use the journal. The pages of the open book fluttered in the breeze. Her curls remained secured beneath Draco's green knit cap.

Hermione looked out over the lake wondering how the giant squid fared in the cold weather. The wind touched the tip of her nose with its icy breath. She ought to cast a warming charm, but she felt some masochistic delight in the discomfort.

She picked up her self-inking quill and let it hover over a page as she tried to think of what to write. What would bring her solace? She prodded her heart, searching for tender spots. She pictured Ron's letter to her; she was still angry with him, but that didn't cause her immediate pain. She thought about the fact that she wouldn't be able to spend time with her parents for the holidays, but that was more of a dull and constant ache. She allowed the image of Draco's bruised back to come to the forefront, and there it was, that sharp, piercing pain. She was angry with whoever had done it. No, not just with them; she was angry with every judgemental, cruel, unforgiving student in the school. A letter then. A letter that would never be sent—she could express herself in safety, expelling the pent up feelings without causing undue distress to anyone else. She put her quill to the paper and began to write.

"After everything we've been through, all we've lost, we still haven't learned. Yesterday it was purebloods terrorizing those of so-called inferior birth, today those victims rise up in vengeance against their perpetrators.

"Does one act make the other acceptable? The question isn't rhetorical. The answer is a resolute no. In exacting revenge, the victims become the assailants, and we are hardly better than those we seek to condemn.

"I am weary of fighting battles. Now is a time for reconciliation. If not for absolution, then forgiveness. If not for forgiveness, then for understanding. We cannot rebuild any lasting peace if we remain divided.

"More importantly, we cannot heal if we hold on. Feel your pain, but move on. Remember the lesson, but move on. Seek out justice, then move on.

"I don't preach from an unscathed pedestal. I, Hermione Granger, suffered with the rest of you. And yet, somehow, I have found a way to let go of prejudice, to forgive those blinded by hate and misguided fear. Oh, I have no intention of pretending it didn't happen. I will do everything in my power to ensure nothing like this ever happens again. But it will not be through physical violence—you abhorred their use of it. It will not be through verbal slurs—theirs left a mark on us. And it will not be through blind categorization—you hated their inability to see the humanity of those they deemed unworthy, less than. Do not fall prey to your pain lest you become what you detest.

"If I can rise above, certainly you can, too. Will you heal our wounds or will you hurt? Will you rebuild our world or will you continue to tear it down? I am only one person. Imagine what we could do if we stood together. I implore you to reconsider your words, to evaluate your actions, and to open your hearts as I have. Only then can we completely stomp out the hate that has torn us apart. Only then can we find the peace we are seeking.

"Lift your wands in unity. When we stand together as one, then one will never have the power to divide us again.”

Hermione dropped the quill. This was lofty, poetic, philosophical nonsense. Yet, it was nothing less than the deepest desire of her heart. It hardly mattered as it was intended for her eyes only; it was more about releasing the thoughts and feelings that otherwise pinged around in her head looking for escape.

She blew the ink of the last line, encouraging it to dry it before she closed the book. And then it happened. The page separated from the book, then folded itself neatly into a small origami dragon. It shimmered as it stretched its minuscule creased wings, then took flight.

Hermione watched in awe as it flew up toward the castle and found entrance through a high window. Amazing. She wondered what would become of it, and then shivered as a strong biting wind cut through her clothes.

"Are you mad?" said a low male voice from behind.

"Perhaps," she said dreamily. She looked up to see Draco standing next to her. His hair blew in the wind, his fair skin tinged pink in angry resistance to the cold. His heavy winter robes flapped in the breeze, and the end of his thick wool scarf trailed behind him like the tail of a kite. Hermione smiled, relishing the sight.

His expression was less amused, more concerned. She felt warm air circulate around her and figured Draco must have cast a warming charm. It was sweet but wholly unnecessary—she hardly felt the cold. He extended his hand and helped her stand, pulling her into his arms and kissing her icy lips.

"Come with me. You need some hot tea, and an even hotter bath," Draco said without even the hint of suggestion. She supposed he was right to be concerned; the temperature had dropped a few degrees since she had come out here, the wind had become restless, and the clouds had grown unsettlingly dark.

She gathered up her things and followed him inside, the tiny paper dragon forgotten.

“Should we sneak into the prefects bathroom?” said Hermione as they walked through the giant doors into the Entrance Hall.

“Ugh. No,” said Draco with disgust. “Granger, do you have any idea what a cesspool that place is? I don’t think there’s enough magic in the whole of Hogwarts to keep that place clean. Let’s just go upstairs.”

Hermione had never found it dirty when she was a prefect. He obviously knew something she didn’t. She merely shrugged and allowed him to lead her to their dormitory.

Their common room was full of their fellow Eighth Years. A small group was sitting in front of the fireplace chatting, a few were playing an animated game of cards at the dining table, here and their students were gathered at the seating areas around the room, steaming cups of tea or coffee and chocolate could be found on the small tables throughout. Hardly anyone paid them mind as they walked through the room.

Hermione shivered; the heating charm hadn’t touched the chill at her core. Draco pulled her onward, quickening his pace. When they reached her room, Draco ordered her to find something warm to wear then take it to his room. He strode away, leaving her to sort through her drawers and her thoughts.

He was overreacting; it was just a bit cold. Okay, so her fingertips felt like icicles. And maybe she couldn’t feel the tip of her nose, but she was warming up. Still, she dug through her wardrobe, looking for something comfortable and warm. She pulled out a pair of leggings, a thick tank, and the wide-necked jumper that fell off one shoulder. Then she pulled her hair into a messy bun and headed to Draco’s room.

“I’m here!” she sang out when she entered. His fire was burning, warmer than usual, and she stopped for a moment to enjoy the heat.

“Back here,” she heard him call. She walked into his bedroom, set her clothes on the dresser, then looked around. The bathroom door was ajar and puffs of steam drifted out. Had he been serious about the bath?

Draco sat on a small wooden pedestal next to a large clawfoot bathtub that had appeared in his bathroom. It was full of steaming water and mountains of bubbles. She could feel the humidity tugging curls from the tie in her hair and springing them free at the base of her neck.

“You drew a bath?” she asked. “For me?”

“Of course, it’s for you,” he said, then firmly, “Now, strip.”

For a moment, she only looked at him, wondering if he was serious. Then, tempted by the prospect of soaking in the hot bath, she decided she might as well. Draco leaned comfortably against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and watched as she peeled off her clothes. First, her jeans, next the long knit cardigan, then the long-sleeved shirt beneath. She felt suddenly ridiculous beneath all these layers, but Draco appeared to be enjoying the view. She pressed her lips into a defiant smile and Draco laughed quietly, shaking his head, but never taking his eyes off of her. She unclasped her bra, then let it fall to the floor, lifting her chin and raising her brows in askance. He smirked in silent approbation. Finally, she removed her knickers, a simple white lace garment that she thought of as neither sexy nor frumpy. He looked at the garment on the ground, then his eyes grazed slowly upward, stopping only for a moment at the ring she still wore around her neck.

“Now, get in,” he commanded.

“That’s it?” she said.

“For now,” he replied, still smirking. “In,” he repeated.

She sighed and stepped into the tub. It was wonderfully hot, and she sank blissfully into the frothy mounds of bubbles, making a contented noise as she did. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and let the heat seep into her skin, finally melting the ice that had taken hold deep within. She began to relax.

“Better?” he asked.

“Infinitely,” she said, languidly. She felt his lips brush against hers, and she smiled. “Draco?”

“Yes, love?” he said.

“Is this lavender bubble bath?” she asked, opening one eye and peering at him curiously.

“It is,” he answered. “My mother sends me care packages full of things she imagines I mustn’t be without. Apparently, lavender bubble bath is one of those things.”

“Mmm,” she said. “That’s very thoughtful.” It didn’t surprise her. Narcissa Malfoy was an intimidating woman, but Hermione knew of her deep love for her son. Harry had told them about what happened in the Forbidden Forest.

She closed her eyes again. It was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed when they were here, which is part of the reason she had looked forward to coming back. It would be a rude awakening when they finally had to leave.

And then the frail security bubble burst as Draco said, “My mother has asked me to invite you to the manor for Christmas.” She heard the uncertainty in his voice and a small note of hope. Her eyes flew open, and she prayed she didn’t look as panicked as she felt.

“I understand if you don’t want to go,” he said. But she knew it was inevitable. She couldn’t avoid Narcissa forever, and she supposed the best way to face her fears, especially the ones associated with returning to his home, was to confront them head-on.

Hermione sighed. “Well, it’s not as if I can claim to have other plans. I have no family of my own, and I’m not exactly going to waltz into the Weasley’s house, am I? Though I’m sure I would be welcomed...by most.” Draco’s expression was etched with consternation. “That was rude, I’m sorry,” she said, recalling herself. She cared about him, and despite the easy refusal he offered her, she knew it would mean a lot to him if she accepted the invitation. “I’ll go.”

“Are you certain? I can put off the response for at least a few more days if you want to sleep on it,” he offered.

“No need. I’ve made up my mind,” she said. “I’m a little anxious about it if I’m being completely honest, but I will accept the invitation with the honor in which it was extended.”

“Shall I ring for the valet to send an acceptance letter forthwith?” he said, drily. She laughed.

“It’s just...the thought of stepping into that house and of facing your mother is…” she couldn’t find the word.

“Terrifying?” he supplied. He wasn’t altogether wrong, but it was a touch dramatic. She flung a handful of suds at him. Draco used his wand to turn them into large round bubbles that drifted upward then popped harmlessly above their heads.

“I’m nervous, but...as long as you are by my side...I will be there,” she said.

“If you give my mother a chance,” he said, quietly, “I think you might find her more...generous than you anticipate.”

Hermione’s face burned with shame. She hadn’t been giving Narcissa the benefit of the doubt, forming a strong opinion, instead, based on brief moments of interaction and even less than that, if she were honest with herself. This was Draco’s mother, and Hermione resolved to put in an effort for his sake, if nothing else.

“I’m sorry you won’t be able to spend time with your family,” said Draco. “It hardly seems fair that I have the luxury of rejecting my father when your own parents have no recollection of your existence.”

“Don’t minimize your loss,” she said gently. “Rejecting your father isn’t a luxury. The circumstances of my grief do not make yours less painful. You have just as much a right to your sadness as I do.”

Draco was quiet.

“And,” she added, “you have just as much a right to your happiness.”

Before he could argue the point, Hermione stood up. Bubbles clung to the curves of her body as they slid slowly back toward the tub.

“My towel, please,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Allow me,” he said, taking her hand and helping her out of the bath. He produced a towel, then began to dry her off, limb by limb.

“You could have used your wand,” she said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he answered.

Then, he pulled her against him. She felt the soft cotton of his shirt, the stiff denim of his jeans, and the delicate skin of his hands on her in a lovely symphony of textures. She tilted her head back to look at him, his mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles, and his grey eyes searched hers.

She brushed her lips against his, and stepped back a fraction, creating a small space between them. Draco wasn’t going to allow it; his arms wrapped around her, closing the distance and crushing the ring sharply between them.

“I should probably tell you—” he started.

“Shh…” she said, then kissed him. Hermione was done talking.

She jumped up and he caught her easily, pulling her legs around his waist as their kiss grew more passionate. He carried her to the bed and lowered her onto the soft duvet.

Then, still standing, he pulled off his shirt, lifting from the bottom to reveal the well-defined muscles of his upper body. She hardly noticed the scars anymore; they were part of the greater whole. He unbuttoned his jeans, then unzipped, all the while looking at her. She was sitting in a semi-reclined position, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. As he pushed down his pants, she spread her legs and lay back, thrilled by the idea of resuming the submissive role she’d fallen into earlier.

He slid between her slick folds easily, and she let a small moan escape. He pulled out slowly, and she gripped his arse in an attempt to pull him back into her. He resisted. He kissed her throat as he moved in and out in long, slow strokes until she was begging for more. He smirked and continued the agonizingly slow movements.

“Please!” she cried, locking her legs around him. His tongue slid up her neck while at the same time he slowly pulled out of her. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Draco, please. Fuck me harder!” she said, hardly caring about the words coming out of her mouth. He slammed into her, and her vision exploded in a twinkling of stars as he stimulated every nerve between her legs.

“Is that what you want?” he said in a low, quiet voice.

“Yes!” she breathed. “Godric, yes!”

He began to move faster, more forcefully. Her vision became dark around the edges as her breathing grew more rapid and shallow. He pounded into her, driving her ever closer toward oblivion.

“Harder!” she said, wanting more, needing more. He obliged, and she felt her pleasure swell and then burst. He didn’t slow down and she thought she might cry from the pleasure and pain of the continued stimulation.

“Enough!” she managed, and he stopped. He kissed her tenderly, and she caught her breath as her body continued to quake with the force of the prolonged orgasm.

“Alright, love?” he finally asked. She nodded, ready for him to finish what they had started.

He lay back, pulling her on top of him so that she could move at her own pace. She sat up, giving him full view of her, and began to move her hips slowly, then faster, reaching behind her to take his scrotum in her hand.

“Is this okay?” she asked, enjoying the feel of him in her hand.

“Mmm,” was all he said. She took it as affirmation and continued. Then, she leaned back a bit further and used one finger to gently massage the area just behind his sack.

“And this?” she purred.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed. “Don’t. Stop. Doing that,” he said between breaths.

He gripped her hips and came into her with a moan. She felt the familiar evaporation of the contraceptive spell. She slowed down, then collapsed onto him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

The sky was growing darker. Dinner wouldn’t be served for a couple more hours. They had plenty of time to lounge around.

“Lay with me awhile,” he said, pulling the blankets over them. He was on his back, his arm around her as she rested her head on his chest, wrapping one of her legs through both of his. This was almost as nice as when he was inside her, a different sort of intimacy that made the other exponentially more satisfying.

And they lay there, naked beneath the covers, talking easily until it was time for dinner.

***

All day Monday, Hermione could feel people watching her. It was disconcerting. When she arrived in Potions that afternoon, Draco was already there, talking to Theo who was sitting at the table in front of him.

"I've had the strangest day," Hermione said to the pair, as she sat in the empty chair beside Draco. "I feel like people keep staring at me. Do I have something in my hair? I don’t understand."

Theo dropped a small origami dragon onto the table. It stretched out in a yawn, then curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

"Where did you get that?" Hermione asked.

"I confiscated it from some Ravenclaw fifth year on my way to lunch," said Theo. "Apparently, he,” Theo indicated the dragon, “appeared in the Slytherin common room on Saturday and has since been flying from one student to the next, biting those who refuse to read the note, then flitting away to the next person."

Hermione stared. "People have been reading it?" she said horrified.

"Some of the Slytherins," said Theo, "Most of the Gryffindors, and it’s still making its way through Ravenclaw. Sounds like it hasn’t had time to get to the Hufflepuffs. But word of mouth has taken care of the rest."

"Would either of you care to tell me what this is all about?" said Draco looking quizzically at the minuscule paper dragon on the table.

Hermione had assumed Theo and Draco were discussing it before she arrived. She pushed the tiny dragon towards Draco, and when Draco stroked its back, it unfolded before him. Draco read the page, then looked up at Hermione.

"It was only meant to be a journal entry," she explained, upset that her private thoughts had been shared by the divulgent beast. "I had no idea it was going to fly away and then show itself to half the school! I wouldn't have written it otherwise. It's..."

"—a beautiful sentiment," Draco said, interrupting the dismissal she had been about to make. As much as he teased her, he often expressed his dislike of her self-deprecating remarks.

"It's only the musings of a reluctant idealist," she said, amending her earlier statement.

"This does explain a few things," Draco said. The dragon folded itself back up and went back to its slumber. Were those tiny scales? Hermione squinted her eyes and looked closely, giving Draco time to elaborate.

But before he could continue, Professor Slughorn arrived. He cast a curious glance at the dragon, then hurried to the front and called the class to order. Theo and Draco exchanged a look that Hermione didn't even try to interpret. And by the time the class had ended, the dragon had disappeared, resuming his quest.

"I don't understand why you're so upset about it," said Ginny at dinner that evening.

"Imagine how you would feel if someone read your journal," said Hermione.

Ginny gave Hermione a withering glare. "Right," Ginny said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Because I have no idea what it's like for someone to read my diary entries, then use them to wreak havoc on the whole school." Ginny shook her head impatiently and rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Hermione and Draco said in unison. Hermione and Ginny shot confused looks in Draco's direction. He wore a somber but determined expression. Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other, and it was clear that neither had any idea what was coming next.

"I had no idea how far it would go when my father slipped you the diary. I never thought anyone's life would be at risk," he said.

They were silent for a beat.

"Well," said Ginny, "how could you have known? You were only a child. I'm sure your ideas about Slytherin's heir were just as fanciful as the drivel I wrote in that diary. It's lucky Hermione found that page about basilisks, really."

"You know," said Hermione, "I still don't know how that page ended up with my things. I searched the library high and low, but I never found anything. Then, when I was ready to give up, there it was, sitting in a pile of papers on the library table. I was horrified to know a book had been defiled, but it was lucky, really, that I was able to take it with me."

Ginny was staring at Draco.

"Better to destroy a book and save a life," Draco said in a low voice. He looked at Hermione waiting to see if she would argue. She did not. "I couldn't very well let it go on, could I?" he finished.

"You?" Hermione said.

"Is it so hard to believe?" Draco said. Surely, he knew the answer by now.

"No," said Hermione quickly, "it's just that I never suspected."

"You weren't meant to," he said.

For a moment, they were the only two people in the room. They exchanged a thousand words in a deep, unblinking gaze.

"Thank you, Draco," said Ginny, interrupting. "In a way, you helped save my life. Do me one more favor, could you?"

Hermione gave Ginny a questioning look, and Ginny smirked.

"Save whatever that look was leading to," Ginny continued, "for later. I'm trying to finish my dinner."

Then Ginny raised her brows to emphasize her point and took a bite of her roast. Draco took hold of Hermione's hand under the table, and the rest of dinner passed in light-hearted chatter.

Hermione hardly noticed the heads that turned in her direction, or the tiny dragon flying from one table to the next. Let it fly, she figured. It hardly mattered now.

After dinner, Hermione and Draco had gone to their respective rooms to change into something more comfortable. Then, she decided to brew some tea. It was cold and she could do with a cup of chamomile; she knew Draco liked to drink it before bed.

She filled the silver kettle with water and put it on the burner in her kitchenette. As she went about gathering things for the tea, she thought about the revelations she’d had over dinner. While the water took its time coming to a slow boil, she began to wonder what else she had been blind to over the years. Draco had known of her table in the library, he as much as admitted to watching her read the papers from his seat at the Slytherin table, he had noticed her at the Yule Ball and not just because she had shown up with Viktor Krum. She selected two teacups and set them on the counter. What else had she missed?

Draco had come in while she was busy preparing the tea. She hadn’t seen him, but she could feel him as he drew near.

“Chamomile?” he said.

“Of course,” she said, turning to smile at him. “Would you like me to add a bit of dreamless sleep potion?” She knew that thinking about the past sometimes triggered his nightmares.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” His lips curved into a smile, and yet, he looked so serious.

Hermione poured the tea.

“Oh, I forgot the sugar!” she said, and she turned to grab the small container behind her.

"I love you, Em," said Draco.

"What did you say?" said Hermione. She forgot about the sugar and turned back to face him.

"I love you," he said with conviction.

"Oh, Draco, I love you, too. Of course, I do," she answered. "But...what was it you just called me?"

"Em?" said Draco. Her eyes prickled and suddenly she couldn't blink, afraid to release the tears burning her eyes. Would the endless spring of tears never dry? "If you hate it—" he started.

"No, no," she said, voice wavering. "It's not that." Her eyelids fluttered in rebellion and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

"What is it, love?" Draco said, pulling her into a protective embrace. She rested her head against his chest and breathed in his scent. Juniper and something else she couldn’t recognize in her distraught state of mind. It anchored her.

"My father used to call me Em," she said, tears spilling into her mouth as she spoke. "Short for Emmie—it's how I pronounced my name when I was little,” she explained, tearfully. “He was the only one who ever used that name. And now he's gone, and I thought I'd never hear it again, and...and..." the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking another word.

"If you don't want me to use that name, I won't. I understand if it's precious to you," he said, rubbing her back. She swallowed away the sorrow and spoke.

"It is. That's why I would never ask you to stop using it," she said. He must be so confused. It occurred to her that he may also feel disappointed. Surely this is not how he imagined this moment. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart like this. I'm a mess."

"No, love, you're grieving. Don't apologize, there’s no need," he said gently. "Cry if you like, I'm not going anywhere."

And she did. His shirt was soaked with her tears, but he never pulled away. He smoothed her hair away from her face and continued to rub her back. Hermione found it soothing, and soon the knot in her chest began to unravel until she felt something akin to serenity.

When the tears stopped flowing, she looked up at him.

"I really do love you, you know," she said.

He smiled. "I know, love. I know."

***

There were two weeks left until the end of term. Hermione was supposed to be reading, but instead, she was staring out one of the large windows in the common room. It had started snowing and the grounds were a veritable winter wonderland. Something about the sparkling blanket of snow made Hermione forget about how harsh and muddy life could be. Every snowflake spoke of hope and wonder, the collective result of each frozen crystal illustrating the beauty of unity while maintaining individual expression.

“You’re not going to get much studying done there,” said Pansy, leaning casually against the wall.

“Hmm?” said Hermione, feeling her spirit contract as she pulled her attention away from the outside world to her immediate surroundings. “Sometimes I have to remind myself not to get so caught up in schedules and tasks that I forget to see the bigger picture. I’ve always loved this time of year.”

Pansy surveyed the scene outside the window.

“Too cold for my liking,” said Pansy. “Summer is much better, in my opinion. More activities and much better wardrobe options.” Hermione had noticed that Pansy had a more... intimate relationship with her clothes; she had the enviable ability to wear them to her advantage rather than having the clothes wear her. Even now, Pansy wore a cardigan whose top three buttons were undone, revealing a lovely but very exposed decolletage, and fitted jeans that flattered her curvaceous figure. Pansy batted her dark lashes coquettishly and Hermione blushed, causing Pansy to laugh.

“Relax,” said Pansy, “you can be a little uptight, you know?”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Hermione. “I’m not sure I know how to really relax.” Hermione laughed a little at herself.

“Well,” said Pansy, “whatever you’re doing lately seems to be helping.” Hermione’s eyes drifted over to Draco, who was sitting on a sofa near the fireplace conversing with Blaise, Theo, Neville, and Dean.

“Or maybe it’s more of a who than a what,” said Pansy following her gaze.

Hermione felt suddenly warm, and her eyes snapped back to Pansy who was wearing a devilish grin. In another time, Hermione might have thought the look to be snide, but now she realized it was just Pansy’s brand of sarcastic teasing.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Hermione admitted. After all, Draco did make her feel more in touch with a side of herself that she had hardly given attention to in her constant quest for knowledge. But it wasn’t just that, the war had made Hermione re-consider her priorities and her views. Hermione had been more honest with herself, and it was incredibly freeing. Painful sometimes, but liberating.

“He’s lucky,” said Pansy. Hermione was looking at Draco again. He was watching them, and when Hermione smiled, he grinned warmly in return.

“ _He’s_ lucky?” said Hermione, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from Draco. She looked at Pansy again. “Don’t you mean I’m lucky?”

“Well, yes, obviously. But no, that’s not what I meant to say,” Pansy replied.

Pansy was looking at Hermione now. Something about the way her pale green eyes were framed by her dark lashes and arched black brows gave her a look of intensity that perhaps Pansy didn’t always mean to convey. Then again, maybe she did. Hermione thought Pansy had a dark beauty that she had never really appreciated in her dislike of the girl, who she’d uncharitably imagined as nothing more than a two-dimensional Slytherin bully.

“Whatever do you mean?” said Hermione.

“I’ve seen the change in him since you’ve been together,” said Pansy. “And, well, did you mean what you wrote? In the letter that’s been going around the school?”

“That? Yes,” Hermione answered honestly. “Yes, I suppose I did, even if I didn’t mean for anyone else to read it.”

“Most people don’t think that way,” said Pansy, referring to the contents of the letter. “I guess we don’t have much right to hope for better treatment after all is said and done. But it means a lot. Especially coming from you.”

Hermione shook her head. There were Slytherins who still held fast to their prejudice, but Hermione had begun to understand that the war had given many a wakeup call. Even those who didn’t think better of their alliance with the wrong side until after the fall of Voldemort deserved a second chance.

“Pansy,” said Hermione. “I know we never really got on—”

“Oh, I was jealous of Draco’s feelings for you for a long time,” Pansy interjected. “I mean, I got over that a long time ago, but it was there.”

“Be that as it may,” said Hermione, startled by this revelation, but determined to finish the sentiment, “I hope you know that I’ve let that all go. It’s not only Draco I’ve accepted.”

Pansy stared at her for a minute, eyes growing glassy with unshed tears. Hermione knew that Pansy would absolutely hate to be seen crying in public. So, she did the only thing she could think of. She changed the subject to one she knew Pansy would happily discuss.

“What I really want to know,” Hermione began, “is which of Hogwarts’ eligible bachelors you currently have your eye on?” Hermione averted her eyes to the group near the fireplace.

Pansy laughed, and, in her periphery, Hermione thought she saw Pansy swipe at her eyes.

“Which of them don’t I have my eye on?” Pansy replied.

And for the next half hour, they talked of the merits and faults—of which girlfriends were one—of most of the Eighth Year males.

“Draco,” said Hermione, later that evening. “You know I can’t concentrate when you do that!”

She was trying for a tone of reproof, but the last word came out in a giggle as he pushed up the Falcons shirt she had put on before getting into bed and kissed a sensitive spot on her lower back. She was lying on her stomach, attempting to read, but it was clear that Draco had other ideas. She put her book down.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Draco said, kissing his way up her spine. It tickled, and she bit her lower lip in attempt to restrain another giggle.

“Your hair is dripping on me,” she said, trying to arch away from the cold droplets. She felt him lick them away, his tongue warm against her skin.

“What are you going to do about it?” he said.

Hermione rolled over, unable to stand it. “I’ll tell you—oh!” she said when she saw him.

“Cold?” he said, remarking on the gooseflesh that had spread over her skin when she caught sight of him. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

“No,” she said. “Have you forgotten something?”

“Ah, yes, it seems I have,” he said. Then, he pulled off her knickers. “That’s better.”

She sighed contentedly, as Draco spread her legs and put his tongue to better use. She could feel herself growing more wet as he kissed and touched and licked her until, finally, she came, shaking with the intensity of a small earthquake.

For a moment, Draco hovered over her, watching with a smile as the orgasm consumed her. And then, while the euphoria still buzzed at a high pitch, she felt him slide between her legs, filling her deliciously. He hadn’t bothered to remove the shirt that had bunched up above her breasts. Hermione didn’t care, she only wanted him to fill her with his swollen cock, to feel him moving inside her. It was pure bliss. He drove into her, again and again, beating a rhythm that suspended her entire body in relentless ecstasy. He climaxed, and she felt all the thrill of it as his cock pulsed between her legs.

Draco melted into her arms, the whole of his weight crushing her into the soft mattress as his cock began to soften and slide out. Only then did her orgasm begin to wane, lowering her gently from the heights of rapture to the gentle plains of contentment. She kissed him, and he released her, moving his body off her hers in bittersweet relief.

“That was…much more enjoyable than reading,” Hermione breathed.

“You might want to reserve some of your praise lest I get too high an opinion of my prowess,” he drawled.

“Even you couldn’t overestimate my opinion on the matter,” she said, paying him the compliment despite his sarcasm. She rubbed a hand over his chest and felt his nipple rise beneath her fingers. She let her hands roam, tracing the muscles defining his chest and abdomen.

“Love, you will be the death of me,” Draco said. He kissed her forehead, and rested his hand on hers, forcing it to stop its teasing exploration.

After a minute of silence, he spoke again, “I was surprised to see you and Pansy chatting like old friends.”

“Is it so hard to imagine we could have a friendly conversation?” she challenged him.

“Given your history, yes, it is,” he said. “Though, given our history, I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

It was dark outside, but Hermione could see snow on the windowsill. If she squinted her eyes a little, she thought she could make out tiny flakes drifting down from above and settling peacefully on the snow that had fallen before. Draco gathered her up in his arms and pulled her close to him.

“Do you think everyone has read the letter?” she asked, curious.

“No,” he said, “but those who didn’t read it themselves have been told about it.”

“Has it…” she started, wondering whether or not to bring it up.

“Has it what, love?” he said, gently coaxing the question out of her.

“Has it changed anything for you?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. He had a peaceful look on his face that she was reluctant to disturb.

“Em, I said I’d tell you if anything else happened, and I meant it,” he said without reproach. He knew she still worried about him, but he couldn’t have suspected the full nature of her concern. Oh, hell, she might as well come out with it.

“I know,” she said, “but I...I’m just worried that maybe I’ve made things worse for you.”

He rose up onto his elbow, resting his head on his hand, and looked down at her.

“You are wondering if you’ve made my life worse?” he said, repeating her phrase. She nodded, wondering if he was stalling for time, trying to figure out a way to let her down easy. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it at all. But then the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“You are going to make me say it, then?” he said, raising a brow. He was looking directly into her eyes and she felt the same blinding intensity she experienced when she looked too long at the sun. She turned her head away, but his fingers, while gentle, touched her jaw and guided her face toward him.

“Have it your way,” he said. “But look at me. The truth, love, is that you have made this dreary life worth living.”

Her thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions, and she couldn’t catch one long enough to shape it into words. Finally, she grasped the most wretched idea, the one tying knots around the others, and piercing her heart with its thorny spines.

“It can’t have been so terrible as all that?” she said, unable to hide a note of pleading in her voice—whether it was a request for him to soften the truth or a useless wish to spare him from his past, she herself didn’t know.

“Have you not seen enough darkness to believe in its ability to suffocate hope and wither one’s soul?” he said. He caressed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, knowing very well that it was even more terrible than she wanted to admit.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she offered, trying in vain to save him from pain she knew he could never escape. But then she understood that he wanted to let her into the dark corners of his mind, that something there was desperately searching for light.

“If it pains you, I won’t,” he said, searching her face for an answer.

She ran her hand through his hair. It was soft, fine. She knew whatever he would say would be as hard for her to hear as it was for him to say. “I’m listening,” she finally said, hoping it was incentive enough for him to continue.

“What plagues me is not the negative attention I get from those who wish to protect you from me, love,” he said. “That, I can endure. But there are other things, you know there are. I’ve tried to spare you the details of what I saw and...what I did under the Dark Lord’s reign, and I’m not going to burden you with that right now, but, suffice it to say, I hope never to so much as to witness a public dispute over the price of lacewing flies. And, of course, there are the ruins that were my family. My family name, once respected, is now hopelessly besmirched; my father is a shell of the man he once was, and that is only made worse by my realization that he may never have been as great as I had imagined him to be when I was young and I idolized him. And, if that wasn’t enough, there’s the shame of admitting I chose the wrong side, even if it was for the right reasons. What, Em, is the point of a life that is in every way destroyed?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak; she dared not cry in the face of his confession. It cost every ounce of strength in her body to hold back the tears. She bit her lip hard, hoping the physical pain would distract her from the emotional pain; it didn’t and now the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Draco fixed his grey eyes on hers and spoke again, “And then you showed up in Diagon Alley,” he said. The corner of his mouth lifted with the memory of it. “The world had shut me out, but you, for whatever reason, invited me in—talking and blushing and looking at me like…” he had a faraway look in his eyes and she remembered their interaction in the apothecary. Even now, it made her blush.

“Like that,” he said, caressing her face. Then, his hand found its way beneath her shirt and his fingers skimmed over her torso. “But it wasn’t until I saw this,” he said, two fingers pressing gently into the ring around her neck, “that I dared to hope. Em, there’s something I really should tell you.”

Her head was swimming, her heart a jumbled mess of emotions. “There’s more?” she said.

“Yes,” Draco said, laughing softly, then growing serious again, “and I don’t know if you’re going to like it. But you have to know before we see my mother.”

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for something terrible.

“This ring,” he continued, his finger brushing over it absently, “well, I’m not actually certain it’s this ring,” she could feel her body responding to his touch despite her mind’s occupation with his words. “But,” he continued, “the one you’re wearing looks very like a family heirloom that went missing during the war.”

Hermione put her hand to her chest, covering the ring and his hand with hers.

“My mother always knew it would be gone sooner or later,” he said, “That’s not why I’m telling you this.”

Hermione reached around her neck, unclasped the chain, and let the ring slide into Draco’s hand so that he might look at it more closely.

“This ring,” he said, turning it over in his hand, “has been in the Malfoy family for generations; it is said...that when the eldest son is of age, the ring disappears and does not return until...” Draco looked uncomfortable, but he took a breath and then continued, “...until it has found the woman who can love him unconditionally. As evidence: even now, my mother stands by my father’s side; her love for him is deeper than her disapproval of his choices.”

She understood why he hadn’t told her this before.

“I’ve had the ring inspected by someone at the Ministry,” Hermione said. “There are no enchantments. How, then, is this possible?” Her rational mind took over as her feelings crashed over her in rapid succession.

“It’s not an enchantment,” Draco confirmed. “It’s something ancient, something to do with the emerald’s own magic.”

“He said maybe it was goblin-made,” Hermione continued. “Could that have something to do with it?” she asked.

“Not goblin-made, Em. Fairy-made,” he said, handing the ring back to her. She looked at the markings again and wondered about their true meaning.

“But…” she started. She had never heard of such a thing. Of course, Draco’s family must know of all the old magic—there were a great many things she hadn’t been exposed to in her muggle upbringing.

“Fairies prefer only to preserve natural magic, to protect it against tampering,” he explained. Then after a moment, he said quietly, “You don’t mean to stop wearing it, do you? If you’re worried...I can assure you it is perfectly safe.”

She had worried at one point, but that was long gone. Everything she’d heard, read, and experienced confirmed his account and she knew her feelings were her own. The most compelling piece of evidence being the daydreams and the secret longing for him that had continued even when the necklace was in the hands of the Ministry.

“I…” she began. But what could she say that would explain what she felt?

“If it helps, my feelings for you began before the ring,” he told her, “and I would have welcomed your interest without it. The ring...it only made me feel more confident about doing so. And now that you know the truth, will you leave?” He looked steadily at her, bravely facing the possibility of a soul-crushing rejection. She could see the tumult in his eyes.

“I couldn’t leave even if I had to drink unicorn blood to keep you,” she said.

His face transformed with relief. She put the ring back on the chain, then Draco put it around her neck. When it was secure, he pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. They didn’t speak another word all night.

***

It was the last week of term, and exams had been more anxiety-inducing than normal. Students, already prone to mental instability in the wake of a horrific war, were flocking to the hospital wing in droves to receive a Draught of Peace from Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was surprised to have found herself much more relaxed about it all than she had ever been. She and Draco had spent plenty of time studying, but she had vowed not to let it consume her as it had in the past.

She had been more than a little surprised to find that she had actually felt more focused and prepared for all of the exams she had done thus far. She supposed there was a point when you became too oversaturated with useless information and performance anxiety to be at your best.

Still, she couldn’t resist the temptation to review her performance after the fact.

“I think that was exactly the right viscosity, and the pale purple hue was more of a lavender color than violet. Do you suppose that will do?” Hermione said as she, Draco, and Theo left their Potions exam.

“Granger,” Draco said, “it looked exactly as it is meant to look. Though...” he paused looking at her, “Do you really want to do this or are you just expending nervous energy?”

“Of course, I want to do this!” she said, worried now that she had done something terribly wrong.

“Take a deep breath, love,” Draco told her. She did. And after two more breaths, she felt calmer. “It should have smelled more like vanilla and less like almond.”

“Are we baking cookies or brewing potions?” she said. The inane phrase had burst forth from the anxiety she felt over the possibility of failure, even a small failure, for she trusted Draco’s assessment implicitly. “Ugh, sorry. Old habits die hard, and I’m not used to someone giving me actual feedback. Maybe it’s not as helpful an exercise as I thought it was.”

“Granger,” Draco said as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeons and headed toward the Entrance Hall, “are we going to do this every day?”

She sighed. “I don’t have to talk about the exams if you don’t want to,” she said, used to being told how annoying it was.

“I’ll go through every question with you if it makes you feel better,” he said, “but perhaps you should consider that you are more worked up about this now than you were before we sat in the exam.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I need to relax.”

“That’s something I can help with,” Draco said, suggestively.

“Hi. I’m still here,” said Theo. Hermione felt herself blushing. Draco rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, which he held tight in his own.

“Don’t you have your own witch to get back to?” Draco said.

“Not just now, I don’t,” Theo said.

Hermione hardly heard their exchange. The Entrance Hall was surprisingly busy with students heading from classrooms to common rooms. It was cold and snowy outside, but that didn’t stop a fair few from heading out into the courtyard. As a group of Slytherins passed nearby, Hermione noticed a few wearing a small round button. She craned her neck and could just make out the words: “I am an ARSE.” Draco was jerked to a halt, tethered as he was to her. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving. She looked around, and now that she was looking for it, she saw a lot of students wearing the pin, not just Slytherins either.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hermione said. Students moved around them as they stood in the center of the Entrance Hall. Some turned their heads to watch, but most were lost in their own conversations or else muttering strings of information to themselves in preparation for their next exam.

“It was Ginny’s idea,” Theo said. “She thought it might distract people from the letter.”

“What are the two of you talking about?” said Draco.

“The pins,” Hermione said. “Did you know about them?” she said, accusingly.

Draco gave her a wry expression, but he held fast to her hand. “No, I didn’t. Explain,” Draco said, turning the look on Theo.

Theo explained that Ginny, Luna and a number of the Eighth Years had started handing out these pins at the height of the commotion about Hermione’s missive. It started with giving them to anyone who was spotted being unnecessarily rude to a Slytherin, but it had quickly become a symbol of inclusion. Demand for the button had grown, and Ginny had appealed to her brother for mass production, which he had happily given.

“The funny one, with the joke shop?” Draco asked. Hermione was surprised Draco knew of George, though Fred and George had left Hogwarts with quite the ceremony.

Theo pulled a button out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione. “I’m an ARSE!” the buttons read, and in tiny print below that, “Advocate for the Reduction of Slytherin Exclusion.” Behind the words was the Hogwarts crest. Theo explained that if someone did something exclusive or rude to the wearer, the button showed an image that was equally rude.

“Do you want me to make them disappear?” Draco said turning to her in the fiercely protective manner she had come to appreciate as a gesture of affection.

“No,” she said gently. “But thank you for the offer,” she stood on her toes and kissed him.

“Are people really asking for these?” Hermione asked Theo, hardly believing it. She couldn’t pay students to wear her SPEW badges in fourth year.

“Let’s just say, if Ginny had charged people for them, she could have made a small fortune,” Theo said. Hermione wondered how she hadn’t noticed them before.

“Right. Let’s get back to the common room, then,” Hermione said, setting off and pulling Draco along behind her. She didn’t want them to see her eyes glaze over with tears. That her friends would do this for her, that people would latch on to the idea, it was too much. She knew the pins would be forgotten by the time they returned from break, but it didn’t matter. She swiped at her face with her sleeve, catching a rogue tear before it could give her away. And when she entered the common room, her heart swelled as she noticed, for the first time, that every single one of them sported the pin—some on their chest, others on their bags, some in other very creative places.

Hermione let go of Draco’s hand and hugged Theo. He patted her back rather awkwardly, and she was quick to release him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and when she pulled away, he was smiling.

When they had gone upstairs, they parted ways at their doors, exchanging a silent look of understanding before entering their own rooms.

Hermione tossed her bag next to her desk, then walked to her bedroom. She fell backward onto her bed and stared up at the dark canopy above. Too boring. She waved her wand and the night sky appeared, the constellations shining especially bright despite the fact that the sun still hung low in the sky beyond her window.

It was odd that she had never noticed the buttons before today. She wondered if she had been so preoccupied with studying—and with Draco—that she just hadn’t paid much attention to anyone else. Moreover, she was fascinated by the impact her words seemed to be having. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that everyone agreed with her, nor that no one thought her to have a ridiculously over-inflated opinion of herself, but it hardly mattered. If only one person benefited from it all, then that was enough to outweigh any amount of criticism she received.

Hermione had been considering the possibility of becoming a healer once she left Hogwarts, but now she wondered if perhaps she might be able to do more good in the Ministry. What impact could she have if she were to create or change laws for the greater good? If her dreams were any indication, it could take her far. She thought of the house elves, and the Slytherins, and the countless others, and her resolve began to strengthen. A fog lifted from the path before her and she felt all the warmth of the golden sun lighting her way.

“I thought you were going to take a bath and relax,” Hermione heard Draco say. She didn’t move, but only continued to watch the stars twinkle above her, distant and cold.

“I didn’t get around to it,” she said, patting the space next to her in invitation. A moment later, Draco was lying next to her, presumably looking up, for she couldn’t feel his eyes on her.

“Very nice,” he said, admiringly. Then, Hermione saw the constellations come to life, and she smiled. The dragon was there, playing with a small bear cub. A bit lower, a maiden watched a sleeping lion with a wary eye. On the other side, a swan glided gracefully through the sky to the melodic sound of a harp strumming on its own.

“Lovely,” Hermione said, as she watched the stars interact. Draco lifted himself onto one elbow and watched her. She noted the absence of self-consciousness. She had grown comfortable with him, and with herself if she was honest.

Draco ran a finger down the bridge of her nose.

“Do you know,” he said, “you have a cluster of freckles that looks exactly like the Lyra constellation?” He traced the shape on one side of her nose.

Hermione looked at Draco, trying to determine whether or not he was teasing her.

“You look utterly relaxed,” he said, “but my offer still stands.” He hadn’t been teasing, then. His eyes swept over her face and she knew the question was only meant to be a chance for her to refuse him, which she had no intention of doing.

“How do you—” she started, but then he pressed his lips against hers, silencing the rhetorical question she didn’t know why she had bothered to speak at all. His hand caressed her cheek and she reached up to run her hand through his hair, loving the feel of the silken locks between her fingers. Draco kissed her tenderly, slowly, in a way their hunger for each other rarely permitted.

She tugged at his shirt, freeing it from his trousers, then she ran her hand beneath the material, feeling the muscles of his back as he leaned carefully over her. The harp continued to pluck an ethereal melody. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and when it fell open, she put her hands on his chest, moving over his torso, and down his tapered waist. And when she reached his belt, she unbuckled it, unzipping his trousers, and put her hand over the bulge contained by his boxer briefs, feeling the shape of him through the material.

Draco’s hand trailed up her inner thigh, pushing up her skirt. He touched her through the thin material there, then slid his hand beneath and found her already damp with desire. He massaged her in leisurely circles. And when she began to forget what she was doing with her own hand, he pulled his away from her. She made a reflexive whining noise, but for naught, he was only removing her knickers. She spread her legs and her loins rejoiced as he inserted one finger, and then another, exciting the nerves lining the soft flesh inside her.

His hand continued its work, but he stopped kissing her to look down at her with those pale grey eyes. They looked right through her and she instinctively sought to diffuse their intensity by giving him somewhere else to look. She unbuttoned her own shirt and let it fall open. Then, she opened the clasp at the front of her bra and pushed it away so he could see her breasts in all their youthful glory. She was rewarded with a satisfied smile. If Draco continued this way, she would be done. Hermione wanted to prolong the pleasure, to hold onto the heady buzz that spread across her entire body.

She pushed his hand away gently, then pulled at his trousers. She could only manage to get them midway down his thighs, but it was far enough. He was between her legs, cock sliding into her in the same unhurried manner that had marked the rest of their encounter. She moaned and used his open shirt to pull him down against her. He was hard against her softness, warm against her cool skin, and she wondered that he would give himself over to her so fully. He kissed her neck and that was enough to send her over the edge at last, a low moan escaping her throat.

She wrapped her legs around him, squeezing her thighs as well as the muscles surrounding his member, and before she started coming down from her high, he was slowing in stacco movements that signaled his release. She could feel a blissful warmth spreading through her body.

She closed her eyes, and freed him from her grasp. Draco kissed her again as he pulled away. Then, collapsed on the bed next to her.

“Draco,” she said, yawning.

“Yes, love?” he answered.

“Do you think we have time for a kip?” she said, feeling blissfully relaxed.

“Have I put you to sleep?” he asked.

“Oh no,” she replied, though she knew he had only been teasing, “you’ve done exactly what you promised, and so much more.” She yawned again, then he yawned too.

The harp played on, lulling them to sleep. They pulled off the rest of their clothes, climbed beneath the comforter, then drifted into a peaceful slumber, waking with just enough time to come together again quickly before heading to a somewhat late dinner.

***

Finally, the week was over. Exams had been tough, but Hermione had confidence in her performance. She had given up reviewing the rest of her exams, vowing to cease worrying about things she couldn’t change in favor of preparing for those she could.

After some deliberation, Hermione and Draco had decided to join most of the other students in visiting Hogsmeade for some Christmas shopping. Draco hadn’t liked the idea of Hermione putting herself in harm’s way—she laughed at this notion, only to apologize later for dismissing his concern for her safety—but a letter from Harry informing Hermione that Rookwood had been sighted near Bath and that two Aurors would be stationed in Hogsmeade put the argument to rest.

And so they set off in good spirits late Saturday morning. The snow crunched beneath their shoes as Hermione, Draco and their small group trailed behind a score of sixth and seventh year students who hadn’t been in a hurry to get to the village as the novelty had worn off.

Their own group had splintered into smaller groups of threes and fours, and the longer they walked, the more spread apart their group grew. Pansy, Luna, and Ginny walked a short distance behind and when the conversation between Hermione and Draco was in a lull, Hermione was able to pick up the bits and pieces of the discussion the wind carried to her. At present, Ginny and Pansy seemed to be debating the pros and cons of personal grooming.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with them?” Draco said, remarking on their conversation. They were near the village entrance and the group would be going their separate ways.

“I think I’d rather skip it this time,” said Hermione. She preferred to spend the time Christmas shopping and enjoying the sights of the snow-laden village rather than visiting The Magical Muff with the others. “Unless, you’d enjoy a change of scenery down there,” she said, though she knew if he’d really wanted that, he would have told her more directly.

“I don’t need a change to enjoy the scenery, love,” he replied. “Do as you please and I will be happy.”

“You are amazingly selfless,” she said, half sarcastically, half admiringly. Her elbow was crooked through his, and she squeezed him tighter to pull him close.

“Tell anyone and my reputation will be ruined,” Draco said.

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” she said, laughingly. He smiled down at her. The snow glittered in the sun and Hermione felt all the purity and joy of the moment. She stopped to give Draco a quick kiss.

“What was that for?” he said.

“Just because you’re you,” she smiled.

“Will you two save it?” Pansy called from behind. “If you want an audience, at least get their consent first.”

Hermione turned to glare while Pansy and Ginny laughed. Luna just smiled serenely.

They turned off the lane onto the main road just as Hermione was turning away from her friends. And that is when she collided with Ron.

“Do you never watch where you’re going?!” Ron shouted at her. He hadn’t fallen this time, only stumbled backward a few steps. His pride was injured more than anything else.

“Watch your mouth!” Draco seethed, wand pointed directly at Ron’s chest.

“What are you going to do about it, Malfoy?” Ron said, pulling out his own wand.

“Don’t be an arse, Ron,” said Hermione, putting herself between them. “It was an accident. I’m sorry, okay,” she said trying a different tack to settle Ron’s anger, but neither moved.

“Don’t apologize to him,” Draco told her.

“Don’t tell her what to do,” Ron retorted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Hello? I’m right here,” she said. “How about you both lower your wands.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at each of them in turn, and their wands dropped.

“So, it’s true?” said Ron, turning on her. “You’re not even trying to hide it? You’re just traipsing around all of Hogwarts with a Death Eater?”

“Why should I hide it?” said Hermione.

“Common decency, for one. Have you no shame, Hermione?” said Ron.

“That is enough!” Draco said, raising his voice, his knuckles white as he gripped the wand in his hand, which was emitting small red sparks. Hermione knew Draco would like nothing more than to use it.

“What the fuck, Ron?” said Ginny. The girls had just caught up with them.

“You’re defending him, too?” Ron spat at Ginny. “You traitorous—”

“Titillando!” Ginny shouted, jabbing her wand in Ron’s direction. He fell to the ground laughing uncontrollably as the tickling hex took effect. Ginny narrowed her eyes and stood over him with all the coolness of an ice sculpture.

“Never. Speak. To us. That way. Again.” Ginny said, then she stepped over Ron and walked away. Tears were now streaming down Ron’s face as he continued laughing, though the relentless tickling was surely turning to pain.

Pansy began to follow Ginny, then suddenly stopped next to Ron, peering down at him as though considering something. She lifted the hex, then walked away with a backward glance at Ron who stared at her with a confused look on his face.

Luna pulled something out of her pocket, then handed it to Ron and walked away without saying a word.

“I’m an ARSE?” Ron said looking at the button in his palm.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” said Draco under his breath. He had stowed his wand.

Hermione strode toward Ron, standing so close to him that puffs of steam blew directly in his face when she spoke the following words, “You, Ronald Weasley, are here to protect us, not to attack us!” She poked a finger into his chest. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but you have NO RIGHT treating anyone that way! And don’t think I’m just going to stand here and take it!” Ron paled and stepped back two paces, but Hermione continued, “I’m done with this, and until you can learn how to speak to me with respect, and that includes in writing, you will not speak to me at all!”

Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand, ignoring the triumphant look on his face, and pulled him after her. She stormed away from a befuddled and slightly pathetic looking Ron, and if he hadn’t been such a complete arse, she might have felt bad for him.

“Granger,” Draco said when they were far enough away from Ron. She pulled him down a deserted side street then turned to face him, anger still pulsing through her veins.

“Don’t ‘Granger’ me, Draco Malfoy!” she said glaring at him. He backed up against a wall and threw up his hands in askance of mercy. “What are you thinking drawing your wand on an Auror?” she continued. His hands dropped to his side and he narrowed his eyes, a cold expression falling over his face.

“It’s just Weasley,” he said.

“No one else will see it that way!” she said.

“Still so worried about what everyone else will think...or is it him you worry about?” he said, his jaw clenched. She had wounded his pride, and now he was trotting out his worst fears.

“Don’t be daft. I’m not worried about what everyone else thinks and I’m not worried about him,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m only worried about what might happen to you.” She narrowed her eyes right back at him. He put his arms around her and pulled her into a hug that she did not return at first.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger any more than his. I don’t suppose I have much claim to superiority, after all.”

“It’s not a competition,” she said, softening.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, sullenly.

“Godric, no,” she said, then sighed. “Draco, do you know what is at the core of my wand?”

“Unicorn hair?” he ventured a guess.

“No. Dragon heartstring,” she said.

“Dragon heartstring,” he echoed, no hint of understanding. Was he being obtuse or was she being overly sentimental?

She put her hand over his heart and looked into his eyes.

“Go on, then,” she said. This, he understood immediately. She felt her mind unfolding for him as he pushed his way in, searching the dark depths for an explanation she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud. Draco. My heart. Only you. The words bubbled up in her mind, then sank again quickly. Images from her dreams flickered across her consciousness.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Why should she feel embarrassed? They had certainly shared more with each other than this confession. Yet, some part of her was afraid to admit, even to herself, the depth of her feelings for him.

“Look at me,” he said, tilting her head back so he could pierce her soul with grey eyes; he knew the power he could wield with a look. She lifted her eyes to him, wanting desperately to look away. It made no sense. “Why do you still hold back?” he said, quietly.

She had no suitable answer. How could she tell him that there was still a part of her that expected rebuke, ridicule, or disdain? She had experienced it often enough with Ron, and it made her wary.

“I see,” he said, though he hadn’t used magic to understand. “I’ve behaved poorly and that has triggered your fear. You cannot imagine how deeply sorry I am for that. I will take more care in the future.”

He kissed her before she could respond, and she felt all the sincerity of his pledge. She kissed him back, letting the walls come down, vowing to trust him without expectation. She extended her forgiveness and asked silently for his.

Hermione heard the annoyed bleat of a goat. They turned their heads toward the sound and saw an old man smile through his wiry, gray beard. He had a familiar twinkle in his bright blue eyes, and a pair of filthy spectacles.

“Hello, Aberforth,” said Draco in a familiar sort of way that Hermione hadn’t expected.

Hermione peered curiously at the tall, blonde man in her arms. He smiled mysteriously, then pulled her along when Aberforth invited them inside for a warm drink. There were still so many things she didn’t know about Draco, but she knew there was nothing he would keep from her. With that trust, there was no storm they couldn’t weather. And she went inside, suddenly filled with warmth, wonder, and hope.


	8. December 1998 (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: The other half of December 1998. We pick up at the beginning of the winter holiday. Thank you for your patience.

December 1998: Part 2

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just apparate from here?” Hermione said as they made their way onto the platform at Hogsmeade station. It was already very crowded and Hermione felt as if she were walking into a swarm of bees. Draco slipped his hand in hers and guided her toward the train.

“I’m sure,” Draco said, turning to flash her a charming smile. The crowd parted for them as they walked toward the scarlet steam engine.

“Hermione!” said a small, dark-haired girl that looked like she must have been a second year, or maybe a third year; Hermione couldn’t much tell the difference anymore. “Could you sign this for me?” The girl looked at her with large brown eyes, and Hermione couldn’t say no. The girl held out a piece of parchment, and when Hermione took it from her hands, she saw it was the journal entry.

“Where did you get this?” Hermione asked her, a bit more harshly than she had intended. There were no creases, and it didn’t have scales, so it wasn’t likely to be the original.

“I...I made a copy when it was in Ravenclaw tower,” the girl said quietly, a rosy pink color blooming in her cheeks.

“I don’t make a habit of giving autographs, you know,” said Hermione, but the longer she stood there, the more attention she was sure to draw. The girl’s face drooped with disappointment. “Oh, just give me a quill,” Hermione finally said, attempting to be gracious, though she was not succeeding on that front. The girl perked up anyway and handed Hermione a quill.

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione muttered as she signed her name at the bottom of the page in blue ink. Draco chuckled.

“And you, too?” the girl said turning to Draco. Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh. The expression on Draco’s face was one of utter shock.

“Me?” he said. “Why should I sign it?”

“Just do it so we can get out of here,” Hermione said under her breath. “People are starting to look.”

He snatched the quill from Hermione’s hand and signed.

“Thank you!” the girl said, a starstruck look twinkling in her eyes.

“If I find out that piece of paper is enchanted,” said Hermione, “I will be forced to make an example of you.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the poor girl, and she hurried away, clutching the paper protectively against her chest.

“Was that necessary?” said Draco. “There’s a good chance her boggart is going to look exactly like you.”

“I don’t want people getting any ideas,” Hermione replied, standing her ground. “I know perfectly well that paper wasn’t enchanted. I’m a rather brilliant witch, remember?”

“Come along, then, my brilliant witch,” he said, pulling her toward the train. “We will be forced to sit in a compartment next to the prefects if we don’t hurry.”

“Right,” said Hermione laughing. “As if the occupants of any cabin won’t get up and leave as soon as you walk in.”

“What can I say?” he replied, haughtily. “No one can tolerate being in the presence of this much perfection for long.” Hermione thought she detected a hint of something else beneath his sarcasm and wished she hadn’t made the joke.

Luckily, they found a compartment near the rear of the train. As soon as the door slid to a close and the shades were drawn, Hermione turned to Draco. She stood close and looked up at him. He looked curiously at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “That was callous and unkind. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He put his hand on her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“Love, I’m not made of glass,” he said looking into her eyes. She could see he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

“No, but neither are you made of stone,” she answered, putting her hand over his heart. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Have I told you that I love you?” he whispered.

“Only a thousand times,” she said, smiling. Then, she kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh, come on!” said Pansy. Hermione pulled away from Draco, surprised and slightly disappointed to find their friends spilling through the doorway.

“I told you!” Ginny said to Pansy as she walked into the compartment and took a seat.

“Should we come back in five minutes?” Blaise said, across from Pansy.

“Five minutes, Zabini?” said Pansy. “Noted,” she said.

“How about you don’t come back at all?” Draco said. Draco waited for Hermione to take the seat next to the window.

“There you are,” Luna said as she walked in, then sat down in the middle seat between Ginny and Blaise, leaving Pansy next to Draco.

“Anyone else want to join?” Pansy called down the corridor, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Why should they?” Ginny replied, “We have the next three compartments reserved. That’s more space than we need.”

But after an hour, the train was in motion along with the rest of the group. Ginny and Luna left to find Neville and Hannah. And eventually, Pansy went to chat with Daphne, who was apparently sitting with Theo and Astoria.

Only Blaise was left.

“So,” said Hermione, “you and Pansy, huh?”

Blaise and Draco looked at each other, then laughed.

“Pansy? No,” Blaise said. “We joke, but there is nothing there. You are a funny one.”

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. Hermione pondered his meaning for a moment while listening to the sound of the train running noisily over the tracks. There was something soothing about it.

“Pansy talks a big game, but when the broom hits the skies,” Blaise said, “well, let’s just say she’s more selective than she lets on. And besides, we have too much history. You know how that goes.”

Hermione thought of Ron, silently agreeing with Blaise’s statement. But she didn’t want to think about Ron. In an alternate reality, she might be headed back to see him right now. She wondered where her path had diverged. What was it that had led her here instead of there?

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Draco said to Blaise. Hermione was gazing out the window, only half-listening.

“I do, actually,” said Blaise. “See you later.” Then, he left.

Hermione heard the compartment door open, then close, then the click of the lock. “Now, where were we?” Draco said to Hermione, sliding his hand up her thigh. She turned away from the window and smiled in response to the look on his face.

“I think,” said Hermione, “you were about to give me the ride of my life.”

Hermione climbed onto his lap and kissed him. Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as the car swayed and rattled on the tracks.

“So, I was,” he said.

They took their time exiting the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross Station, choosing to say their goodbyes to their friends on the train rather than on the platform. They were alone in the compartment, and beyond the window, Hermione could see students hugging family and friends, chatting happily after so many months of separation.

“Do you really have to go back home?” Hermione said to Draco.

“Love, my mother has been there alone for months,” said Draco. “As much as I would love to stay with you the entire time, I have to go, at least until after Christmas.”

Her heart fell. Even while she loved him for his devotion to his mother, she felt all the pain of their impending separation. She tried not to let it show; she knew it was hard for him, too.

“We have tonight,” he reminded her. His voice was gentle, and he reached out to stroke her cheek. Hermione turned to kiss his palm. “And, you know you only have to say the word, and I will arrange for you to stay there, too. There is no request my mother would deny me.”

“I know,” she said. But she wasn’t sure she could handle spending that much time there, and she found herself missing her own home, empty though it was—it gave her some small sense of connection to her parents.

Draco pulled her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I will still see you every day,” he said, running his hand over her thigh. Even through her jeans, the sensation gave her a heady thrill.

“I know,” she was moping now, and her need for him felt suddenly pathetic. She looked outside the window and watched the crowd grow thinner. A first year who had overpacked was trying to wrangle his trunks and a caged brown barn owl—who kept ruffling its feathers in irritation—onto a small trolley, while the boy’s mother chatted with another witch a few meters away.

“Talk to me, Em,” Draco said. She turned her eyes to his, debating on whether or not to admit her inner conflict. His grey eyes invited her to speak, and she couldn’t resist.

“It’s just…” she said, searching for the words, then deciding to stop overthinking it and just speak, “It’s just that I want to spend some time in my own home, but I haven’t slept without you in months,” she felt her cheeks burning at the admission, though he knew it perfectly well, “and I don’t know what it will be like to be in your home again, and what if your mother feels like I’m intruding and taking you away from her and…” she stopped to take a breath. The words had come tumbling out, and now she tried to gauge his reaction. He had a small smile of sympathy.

“I’m pitiful, I know,” she said, sighing.

“You are too hard on yourself, love,” he said. “You are a lot of things, but pitiful is not one of them. I will spend as much time with you as I can, and if you change your mind, just tell me. It’s only a few days, after all. Christmas Eve will be here before we know it and then you will be with me. I promise it won’t be as bad as you think. My mother is preparing you a room, but…” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “there’s nothing to keep us in separate rooms all night.”

Draco kissed her, and she collected herself. She had to stop wasting the time they did have together by worrying about the future. She locked herself in the present moment and began warming up to his kiss. She could feel him growing excited.

“Do you think you can be quick?” she said, locking the compartment door with her wand and closing the curtains on the window.

“The real question is, can you?” he said in a low voice. The excitement that had begun tingling at her core began to spread.

Draco pulled out his wand, and Hermione’s clothes vanished. She could feel her eyes grow wide, but she recovered her senses quickly.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” she answered. Draco, still fully clothed, looked pleased. Hermione straddled him, then reached between her legs, freed Draco’s cock, then lowered herself onto him. He slid into her with ease.

“Apparently not,” he said.

Hermione covered his mouth with hers before he could speak another word; she felt his tongue dart between her lips. She began to move her hips slowly, savoring the feeling of his engorged cock between her legs. Draco slid a hand into her hair, and the excitement he aroused quickened her pace. He pulled her head back and kissed her neck, his lips soft and warm against her skin. Godric, she loved it when he did that. He pulled her hair even harder, causing her to arch toward him. His lips closed over her areola, teeth grazing her nipple, then he bit down and pulled. Hermione’s pleasure exploded in a muted scream. He crushed her against him, then came into her with a low groan. For a moment, he held her, his arms as solid and immovable as Canova’s Eros.

In the near distance, Hermione heard a door open—someone had entered the train car. Soon after, the sound of compartment doors sliding open then closed could be heard. Hermione looked at Draco in alarm. He laughed, and she jumped off his lap.

“It’s not funny!” she said, panicking. Where had her clothes gone? Draco fastened his trousers, then stood in front of her.

“Take a breath, love,” he said, then pulled her against him and kissed her. She wanted to lose herself in his kiss, his arms encircling her waist, but she could hear footsteps, and the sound of doors opening grew closer. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea; of course, it was easy to say that now when her need had been satisfied.

When she stepped away from him, she was wearing her clothes again. “You don’t think I’d leave you bare for all the world to see, do you?” Draco said.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, lightly smacking his arm. “You—”

But just then the door slid open. A Ravenclaw prefect stopped in surprise but quickly regained her composure.

“The train is preparing to leave. You two ought to gather your things and de-board.” The dark-eyed Ravenclaw cocked her head and stepped away from the door.

“Erm, yes, we were just heading out,” Hermione said, certain the green-eyed girl knew exactly what they’d been doing only moments before. Draco smirked as he pulled their bags from the overhead shelf, and then they left without so much as a polite goodbye.

Hermione had to take down the wards to allow Draco entrance to her house. She modified them as she put them back up to allow him future access.

“Impressive,” Draco said when she had finished her magic. His tone was completely absent of surprise and only sounded admiring.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, she thought to ask, “Would you add any others?”

Draco smiled at the invitation, and when she gestured for him to go ahead, he added one more ward, saying the words aloud for her benefit, then quickly explained its function.

She thanked him, then said, “Let’s put our things away.”

Draco followed her up the stairs. He looked around, taking in every detail. Hermione wondered if he found it too simple compared to his own home. She snuck a glance at him, but his expression betrayed no hint of superiority or disdain.

They had reached the landing. The walls were lined with family pictures, and Draco was immediately drawn to them. He looked over photos of her taking her first steps as a baby, as a small child reading a picture book, as a young teenager preparing to ski down the Alps.

“Em, you are positively adorable,” he said.

She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back, looking toward her parents’ empty room. She didn’t want to look at family pictures right now. It was too painful.

“It’s so odd to see everyone standing still,” he said, absently.

“Mmm,” Hermione replied, fighting to lift the immense pressure building in her chest.

“Do you miss them?” he asked her.

“Of course, I do, they’re my parents,” she said, wearily.

“No, Em, I didn’t mean your parents,” he said.

She pulled away from him and saw the picture he was looking at. It was one of her, Harry, and Ron early in their fifth year. She sighed.

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

He turned to face her, reading her expression, then reached out and took one of her hands in his. It was encouragement enough for her to continue.

“They’ve been my best friends for years,” she said, “Things are weird with Ron, and I don’t know if we will ever go back to the way we were before...but Harry and I are still friends.”

His face remained impassive, and though she knew he was holding back his emotions, she forged on.

“Speaking of,” she said, Draco’s brows contracted, “Harry sort of invited us over for dinner next week.”

But this reaction he couldn’t hide. He was shocked, and though they had been civil in the Hog’s Head, she could see that Draco did not care for the idea of an entire evening with Harry.

“I suspect Ginny is behind it,” Hermione continued, giving him time to think, “She’ll be there too, obviously. Please say something.”

“I…,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t like the idea. Not at all.” Her face fell. She knew it was coming, but she was still disappointed. “Let me finish, will you?” he said, responding to the look on her face. He took a deep breath, she held hers.

“I don’t like the idea,” Draco repeated, hugging her, “but he is your best friend, and we will have to learn how to be…civil…at some point or another. I do owe him a debt, and for that reason, I’m willing to let go of past grudges, but that won’t make it easy. Besides, if you can join me at the Manor, I can stand to sit through one dinner.”

She pulled back and kissed him. “I almost declined without telling you,” she admitted.

“Love,” he said, looking down at her, “don’t ever feel like you can’t tell me something, even if you think it’s something I won’t like. I’m not that terrible, am I?”

“Of course, you aren’t,” she said, hoping he didn’t actually believe she thought that of him.

“I’m not so fragile either,” he said interpreting her reluctance correctly this time. He sighed, “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t need you to protect me, even from a dinner invitation with my arch-nemesis.”

He was struggling to hold back a smile now.

“There is one more thing,” said Hermione.

“Don’t tell me Weasley is going to be there,” he said, half-joking.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she said. His face relaxed into an easy smile. “It’s, erm, just an interesting story.”

“I’m listening,” he said. He leaned against the wall and slid his hands into his pockets. She took a moment to etch the image in her mind.

“Actually,” she said, grasping his arm and leading him to her bedroom, "I had something else in mind." He raised a brow at her.

“Again?” he said, smirking. Hermione threw their bags on her bed, then put a hand on her hip and faced him.

“Get a change of clothes and join me in the shower,” she said in a bossy way that had always elicited eye rolls from Harry and Ron, but Draco always found it amusing. Then she turned away before he could ask any questions. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell him about the vision or the dreams. He would think her certifiably mad.

Hermione turned on the water, then undressed. She found herself in front of the mirror, evaluating her reflection. Her hair was still mussed from their escapades on the train. She really would have to pay more attention to these things if she wanted to achieve any semblance of discretion. Steam began to billow around her, but she noted, for the first time, that she looked slightly thinner than usual—her collarbones were more pronounced and she could see the faint outline of her ribs. Grief and stress had suppressed her appetite, but she’d have to make more of an effort to be healthy; she needed her strength, especially if some angry Death Eater was after her.

Hermione thought of the strength she’d need to tell Draco about the visions and dreams she’d had of him since this summer. Her curls tightened in the humidity and so did her resolve. She didn’t know how he would react all of it, but she couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

Her reflection had all but disappeared in the steamy mirror. Draco’s arms slid around her, and he whispered in her ear, “Enjoying the view?” He pushed her hair away from her shoulder and kissed her neck. “ I certainly am. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me? Or was it just a ploy to get me in the shower with you? As if I needed any coercion.”

Hermione turned around, kissed him briefly, then pulled him into the shower as she said, “Get in, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Draco had listened raptly as she described the vision she’d had of him in June. He didn’t question the veracity of her story nor her sanity; instead, accepting it implicitly. He was clearly intrigued, and when, at the end of it, she thought to tell him about Avebury and the dreams, he’d kissed her and all thoughts flew out of her head.

The rest of the evening passed too quickly, and before she knew it, morning had come and Draco was leaving with promises to return in the afternoon.

The house was quiet when he’d left and she felt the familiar loneliness that had come to define her time there. Her bed was comfortable and she suddenly felt a bone-deep exhaustion wash over her. Maybe she would lie there for a few minutes. It felt nice to close her eyes and let herself relax. Soon, her thoughts went fuzzy around the edges like a watercolor in the rain.

_Hermione’s eyes were closed; she was trying to block out the visual distractions. It didn’t help slow down the thoughts and feelings spinning through her mind like a dizzying carousel—doubts and curiosity and trepidation and love bobbing up and down in alternating prominence. A large hand slid beneath her shirt, brushing uncertainly over her bra while lips smashed into hers. She could feel his erection through the soft corduroy of his trousers. The encounter was awkward, not least of all because it felt very much like they were trying to answer a question neither wanted to ask._

_“‘Mione?” Ron whispered._

Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she drew in a sharp breath. Adrenaline coursed through her body and her heart pounded in her chest. But she was alone in her bed. Outside her window, the light had changed; it must be early afternoon by now.

She had fallen asleep; it was a dream. No, that wasn’t right; it wasn’t just a dream, it was a memory. Hermione sighed. When Draco had asked her about Harry and Ron earlier, this hadn’t even crossed her mind.

There was a part of her that wished she hadn’t done it, the other part of her knew it was pointless to dwell on thoughts that could lead to nothing but regret. Hermione had known after that first time that this thing between her and Ron was going nowhere. Still, she had let it happen again, hoping, perhaps for a different outcome, for a spark of feeling that was more akin to romance, but she might as well have been sleeping with Harry for all the feelings it aroused.

It wasn’t that Ron was terrible in bed—though it did feel unkind to compare him to Draco, who won her over in every way—no, it was the weakness of their bond even after the act. She could feel Ron clinging to the illusion of their inevitability, and she felt trapped and even a little dishonest because she could see the truth of their dysfunction.

Hermione knew Ron still hadn’t come to terms with it; it was why he lashed out at her at every opportunity. She did wonder if it would have been any less painful for them to go their separate ways if they hadn’t ever crossed that boundary. Hermione knew there was someone better suited for him, and she sincerely hoped he would find her. She thought about the dream of Pansy and wondered if it could happen.

Hermione felt a tug on her heart and thoughts of Draco came bounding through her mind, scattering memories of Ron like a flock of startled birds. Suddenly, Draco’s absence felt unbearable, and she fought against a feeling of desolation.

She climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of woolen socks, and headed downstairs to brew some tea. After putting the kettle on the stove, Hermione turned on the television and put her copy of Pride & Prejudice in the VHS player. Once it was cued to the title, she paused it and returned to the kitchen to finish preparing her tea.

“Have I arrived just in time for tea?” Draco said. His voice was like a soothing balm and though he had caught her by surprise, her dominant feeling was one of peace.

She removed the kettle from the heat and then closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Draco, resting her head on his chest.

“Your timing is impeccable, as always,” she said, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent.

“Alright, love?” he said, gently, his arms tight around her.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured into his chest.

“Remind me why we thought this was a good idea,” he said, resting his cheek on her head.

“I don’t know. Something about family and proving my independence,” she replied.

Draco laughed. “Love, you are the last person who needs to prove her independence, but how much longer do you think it will take to convince yourself?”

“Oh, at least one more night,” she said. It was absurd. Her fear and her feelings clouded her judgment; she knew as much, but it didn’t change anything. Not right now. She wasn’t ready to leave, even though she knew she would regret the decision when he left again.

“You’ve not had enough time to miss me, then,” he said. “Now, what about that tea?”

He kissed her then, long and deep, and if he hadn’t had his arms around her, she was certain she would not have been able to stand. When he pulled away, she just blinked up at him. He laughed again.

“Go sit down, love, I’ll take care of it,” he told her. She walked to the other room and sat on the sofa. From there, she could hear Draco opening and closing cabinets, looking for the cups and tea and other items he needed.

Draco walked into the room a few minutes later with two teacups and a couple of ginger biscuits on each saucer. Hermione smiled and thanked him, mentally shaking off the sadness that clung to her. Draco kissed her again, lightly this time, then sat next to her.

“And now I will begin your education, Mr. Malfoy,” she said.

“The tea will get cold,” he said, and this time it was Hermione’s turn to laugh.

“There will be time enough for that later,” she said. “I meant that we are going to watch Pride & Prejudice. Prepare to be dazzled by muggle ingenuity.”

“Love, I grow more amazed by the day,” he said, as the movie began to play.

Draco had left before dinner with an invitation for her to join, which she had politely refused, and promises to return at daybreak. Hermione made herself a simple meal and had then decided it was time to clean out her beaded bag. But when she’d pulled out Dumbledore’s copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, she had become distracted. She hadn’t looked at the book in months, but as she flipped through the pages, she found herself wishing she could read the original versions of all the stories within the book, which were all written in ancient runes.

She was bored, so, to pass time, she thought she’d try her hand at translating the first chapter. By nightfall, she had translated the first five pages with reasonable accuracy and climbed into bed feeling accomplished and alive with an idea for a new project.

Hermione lay alone in bed, without even the comfort of seeing the stars beyond her window for the moonless sky was blanketed in shadows. Hermione felt small and insignificant in the darkness, and she wondered if she had overestimated her ability to overcome the obstacles that faced them outside the walls of Hogwarts. Love, it turns out, does not make life easier, it only makes one more willing to persevere in the face of adversity.

And yet, she was here alone because she hadn’t been willing to face her fear. Her self-imposed loneliness was unnecessary and ridiculous if she was going to be honest with herself. She vowed to go with him tomorrow. Without her parents, there was little comfort for her here, and without Draco, even that little comfort could not be found.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, but it didn’t work. Of course, it hadn’t. She imagined being nestled safely against Draco’s body as they drifted to sleep, his chest rising and falling against her back, his arm draped over her, his knees tucked behind hers. Her pillow still smelled of him, and she began to relax until finally, she fell asleep.

She awoke to the sound of the wind whistling outside the window. It was still dark, and beyond the window, she could just make out the shadow of a barren tree swaying in the breeze. It was eerie, and she felt suddenly exposed, though her wards were well in place. She could almost feel Draco’s arm around her waist, and his absence created a longing that left her feeling restless. She groaned; there was no way she would ever sleep now.

“Did I wake you, love?” Draco said in a low, quiet voice.

Hermione turned over, and though she could only make out the outline of him, she could feel him well enough.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” she said, wondering if she was still dreaming.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. She reached out to touch his face. Even in the dark, she could see the outline of his bare upper body.

“Won’t you be missed?” she asked.

“Am I not already missed?” he said, pulling her close. His hand grazed her arm.

“Mmm,” she murmured in response to his question and his touch.

“I couldn’t stand to be so far away from you,” he said.

Then, he kissed her. Her body began to rouse from its slumber, awakening to his touch. She slid her hand beneath the waistband of his flannel pajama pants, then gently touched the soft, silken skin of his erect cock. A low moan escaped his throat as Hermione wrapped her hand around him and began to stroke his shaft. Her touch was light, teasing. Draco pulled her hand away, and she wondered if she had done something wrong.

“I want you,” he said, breathlessly. “I want to be inside you.”

He ripped off her knickers and pushed up the Falcons shirt she had put on before bed as he spread her legs and climbed over her. She felt the tip of his cock slide between her wet folds, gliding up over her clit then down again. Then, he thrust into her, and she felt him hit a wall deep inside her.

He pulled out, and every nerve between her legs screamed in protest. Her muscles tightened around him causing him to gasp and then thrust into her again. Her hands ran from his broad shoulders down to his waist and over his taut arse.

“Godric, I missed you,” she moaned.

Draco slid a hand down her thigh, then up again, pulling her leg up to his waist, his hand locked firmly behind her knee. He drove into her again and again, chasing all coherent thought from her mind.

“Say it,” he breathed into her ear.

“I—” she could hardly think. Her head was filled with a song of rapture, and her breathing was keeping time. But she found the words he wanted to hear, “I love you.”

He pressed his mouth against hers as if he wanted to consume the words she had spoken. And then he pulled away.

“Let go, Em,” he said. He kissed her neck just below her ear, his thumb caressed her leg, the head of his cock stretched her as he pulled out almost all the way. But then he thrust into her, and the music swelled causing her to cry out as she came. “Yes, love,” he said, “like that. Let it all go.”

She allowed the sound to pour out of her as he continued moving inside her, and she felt her loneliness and fear and pure, ecstatic joy slide away in hot tears she was entirely unable to contain.

Draco slowed down, then stopped. He sat up, and she took the opportunity to wipe the wetness away from her face. He pulled her into his lap, then lifted the shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. He placed his hands on her shoulder blades and pulled her forward, kissing her clavicle and then the tops of her breasts. She let her head fall backward, relishing the feel of his lips and hands and cock. He licked her nipple, then kissed the ring over her heart. She began to move, pressing her legs into the bed and lifting upward in a slow, controlled movement, then carefully sliding back down. Draco moaned, and the sound sent a tingle up her spine. She did it again, eliciting another moan from him. She began to move more quickly until she was bouncing gently in his lap.

“Slow down, love,” he said. But she didn’t, and soon he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her onto him as he released his seed deep inside her. For a minute, they sat like that, holding each other tight.

Draco kissed her, and then lifted her off of him. They climbed back under the covers, spent and suddenly very tired.

“Dray,” she said, the name escaped her lips while her mind was drifting in blissful indifference, “I’m glad you came back,” she said, feeling a warmth spreading in her belly, his presence a soothing balm to the ache she’d felt all day. She yawned and wrapped an arm around him.

“I will always come back,” he told her.

Draco kissed her forehead, then yawned. After a few moments, his breathing grew slower and deeper. Hermione closed her eyes and went back to sleep, feeling more at peace than she had in weeks.

In the morning, it was settled: Hermione would be spending the rest of the week at Malfoy Manor. They would leave that day, and Hermione would join Draco and his mother for their annual Winter Solstice tradition that night. She didn’t ask for details—she didn’t need convincing or dissuading—she only packed her things and prepared to leave her home, which was devoid of all the usual Christmas joy.

***

They arrived in an open field just behind a large caravan. Hermione still didn’t know where they were, she hadn’t asked, which seemed a bit silly now because she had a lot of questions, particularly when she thought about the last time she had appeared in an open field.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked as Draco led her around the caravan.

“Stonehenge,” he said. “We always watch the sunrise through the stones on Winter Solstice.”

Now that their view was unobstructed, Hermione could see silhouettes of the giant monoliths looming in the darkness far ahead.

Here and there, campfires burned and people talked quietly to each other. Some were muggles, and some were wizards dressed in muggle clothing, though Hermione could easily spot a few who could do with a bit of advice on how muggles dressed in the twentieth century.

It was so cold their breath came out in puffs of steam. Hermione and Draco were dressed in warm muggle clothing, but she dearly wished for her wool robes to wear as an additional layer.

As they walked toward the stones, Hermione’s heart beat faster. Draco was talking, but she couldn’t hear him over the rhythmic pounding noise. The closer they drew to the stones the tighter her chest felt, as if the air was condensing. When they were only a few meters away, her feet stopped moving, and she clung tightly to Draco’s arm. He turned toward her and asked a question that she couldn’t hear over the high-pitched note ringing in her ears. Draco looked concerned. She began to feel lightheaded, and her vision grew dark around the edges, then it all went black.

“Hermione,” said a male voice. “Wake up. C’mon, get up.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she was disoriented. There was a tugging at her arm, and she tried to rise to a sitting position, but she couldn’t make herself move just yet.

“Wh—what happened?” she said, groggily. Her eyelids fluttered open. The blurry form above her began to take shape.

“You passed out.” It was Ron.

“Where are we?” she said.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who wanted to come out here. I told you it was a bad idea,” Ron said. It was dark except for the stars. Crickets chirped in an unperturbed serenade.

“Will you just answer my question?” she said, raising her voice. “Where. Are. We?” She lay on her back and looked past Ron to the stars twinkling above them.

“In the Forest of Dean?” he said as if it were so obvious. She closed her eyes, trying to gain her bearings, trying to calm down.

She felt cold.

“Hermione?”

“Give her a moment,” said a cool female voice Hermione didn’t recognize.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. Narcissa looked at her critically, then smiled that small smile Draco always did when he was pleased with himself.

Hermione turned her eyes to Draco. She was cradled in his arms, and his face was ashen.

“What happened?” Hermione said. The sky was changing from indigo to royal blue as dawn approached.

“We were walking, and then you just stopped,” Draco said in a quiet voice. “You had this dazed look on your face, and then you collapsed. I thought…” His eyes squeezed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Narcissa put a slender hand on Draco’s shoulder, then turned her gaze to Hermione.

“What do you remember?” Narcissa asked.

“I…” Hermione searched her memory. “We were approaching the stones, and I didn’t feel right. I think…I think I had a panic attack. It’s happened before.”

Narcissa nodded. A look of relief swept over Draco’s face, and Hermione realized he must have thought it was something much more sinister. Why hadn’t she told him about the stones when she had told him about the vision? Maybe she could have spared him the worry. Perhaps she could have saved herself the embarrassment of this episode.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, reaching up to touch Draco’s face.

“Don’t apologize,” Draco said to her. “I’m just happy you’re alright.”

“Come along, dear,” Narcissa said, offering Hermione a hand. “Draco, darling, help her to the apparition point. Take her back to the manor. I’ll be right behind you.”

Hermione stood up, shakily. Draco treated at her as though she might shatter if he didn’t handle her very delicately.

“I’m alright, really,” she told him.

“I’m not,” he said. His voice was tight, but it wasn’t anger.

“Don’t take me near the stones,” she said as they walked. He didn’t ask any questions. They gave the circle a wide berth, then apparated behind the caravan.

Draco took Hermione inside the manor, but she hardly noticed her surroundings.

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” Draco said when they had found a comfortable sofa in a sunroom that overlooked a well-kept garden. Hermione reclined into the corner, but Draco sat on the edge of the couch near her, his face resting in his hands in a weary sort of way.

“I…I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. She felt wretched for causing him to feel this way. Some part of her brain reminded her that she did not have any control over anyone else’s feelings, but that didn’t stop the regret.

Draco looked at her. “I am not asking for an apology, Em. I just want to know what in bloody hell happened back there.”

“It’s the stones,” she said, she felt her eyes watering. Oh great, now he would think he had made her cry. She took a deep breath, desperately wishing the tears away. “I should have told you, except…I don’t know the whole story myself.” The tears spilled over, and her lip trembled.

Draco had been watching her, and now he moved closer and pulled her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling safe in his arms. As she relaxed into him, her whole body began to quake. Draco rubbed her back, consolingly.

When she felt in control of herself again, she described how she had woken up in Avebury. She explained that she had no idea that she would have that reaction when they had arrived in Stonehenge, and she couldn’t explain it now, except that she had this inexplicable aversion to the stones.

When she looked up, she noticed that a tea tray had appeared on the small table before them, probably when she was falling apart in Draco’s arms.

“Let me pour you a cup of tea,” he said, gently lifting her off his lap. She nodded. A hot cup would be very nice.

“It’s chamomile,” he explained as he fixed her cup. He handed it to her, then added, “It does have a small amount of Draught of Peace. I’m taking some in mine as well.”

She thanked him, then lifted the cup to her lips. Draco poured his tea, and when he did, Hermione noticed the black outlined lotus flowers on his cup bloom and drift in an invisible breeze. The saucer had the outline of a lily pad. A small dragonfly flew across the inside of his cup.

“Is there something wrong with your tea?” Draco said. Hermione realized her cup hung in midair, just a centimeter away from her lips.

“No, no,” she said.

She took a sip and felt the hot liquid spill down her throat, down her esophagus, and into her core. The heat and a feeling of bliss spread through her body. She smiled serenely at Draco, who leaned over to kiss her, his hand brushing her hair away from her face.

He pulled back a fraction, then whispered, “You frightened me, Em. I don’t know what I would have done if…” He kissed her forehead, then turned away from her to sip his tea.

“It seems I ought to thank your mother,” Hermione said.

A dragonfly floated lazily across Draco’s cup, and Hermione could swear she could see an iridescent shimmer in its wings. Even a magical cup couldn’t do that…could it?

“You’ve received the tea?” Narcissa said, standing in the doorway. “Good. Finish at your leisure, then join me in the breakfast room. We will dine together.” Narcissa turned to leave before either of them had time to respond. Hermione heard the click of heels on marble tiles, and the sound brought back the memory of the last dream she’d had.

“There’s one more thing I should probably tell you,” Hermione said, quietly.

Draco set his cup on the saucer in his other hand and fixed his grey eyes on her. She shivered involuntarily and felt a heat spreading beneath her skin that had nothing to do with the tea.

She told him about her dreams. All of them. She didn’t go into detail because they would be there all day if she did, but she explained the main points as quickly and as well as she could. He listened patiently, and she thought she saw him smile a couple times.

“Say something,” she said when she had finished.

“What was the hex you used on Weasley?” he said, repressing a laugh.

She pursed her lips, unwilling to allow Ron to be a topic of conversation between them unless it was unavoidable—it was awkward and Ron had suffered enough without them laughing about him behind his back.

“We really should head to the breakfast room,” he said.

Hermione set her empty teacup on the tea tray and stood up, stretching.

“Let’s go, then,” she said. Draco slipped his hand into hers, leaned over to kiss her, then lead her to breakfast, where his mother awaited them.

“Mother, you’ve done some redecorating,” Draco said. He pulled out a seat for Hermione, then sat next to her opposite his mother. There were only six chairs at the small, round table.

“You’ve seen the rest of the house, Draco, I don’t know why you’re surprised,” she said airily.

“I haven’t been in this room yet,” he replied. Hermione looked around. The room had all the grandeur suited to a house of this size. A large mirror hung over the marble fireplace to Hermione’s right. The walls boasted an ornate mural of the English countryside; the people within moved silently about their business, completely unaware, it seemed, of their audience. Above the table was a beautiful crystal chandelier, whose pendants cast small rainbows around the room.

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave this house as it was—a gothic relic, too morose for my present taste,” she explained. Her present taste appeared to be elegant and ornate, yet somehow—probably due to the cream-colored walls and expansive windows—open and light. It looked nothing at all like the old dark-paneled manor she remembered.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, turning to Hermione, “I trust you will find everything to your liking. Draco will show you to your room when we have finished here.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Hermione, unsure of how to address her.

“You may call me Narcissa,” she said, smiling, and her eyes softened.

“Thank you, Narcissa, for helping me this morning,” said Hermione.

“Think nothing of it,” Narcissa said. “Please, help yourselves, you must be famished.”

On their plates, was the most beautiful eggs benedict she’d ever seen. The muffin was golden just around the edges, and a yellow hollandaise had been carefully spooned over a poached egg, crispy pancetta, and a bright red tomato slice. The whole was sprinkled with fresh-cracked pepper and topped with a few arugula leaves. The table was laden with dishes that included fresh fruit, yogurt and a variety of sides, including roasted potatoes.

When Hermione cut into the egg, a thick golden yolk spread over the dish. She took a bite and closed her eyes, overwhelmed with delight by the taste. She caught herself and looked at Draco. He was cutting a potato, and while he wasn’t looking at her, he was suppressing a smile.

The rest of breakfast passed in polite conversation. Narcissa was very formal, but even that was much better than what she had imagined.

They spent the rest of the day without much interference from Narcissa. Draco had shown her to the room his mother had prepared for her. He admitted that she had been placed right next door to him at his insistence. His own room was large and meticulously kept.

Draco had shown her the sprawling grounds, and then most of the rooms inside the manor, avoiding those she had been in before, even though his mother had gone to great lengths to change their appearance. It occurred to Hermione that Narcissa was trying to scrub the house of every last reminder of Voldemort. Hermione supposed that it couldn’t have been pleasant to have him lording over their home, unable to ever escape his tyranny.

That night, Hermione lay in her bed, wondering if she dared leave the room to be with Draco. The house was quiet but alive with magic and something else. She didn’t think there were ghosts here—Draco hadn’t mentioned any—but it was almost like the house was still carrying unwanted memories of what had happened there, echoes of things Hermione didn’t think she ever wanted to know. It was unnerving, and she tried to change this line of thinking.

There was only one wall between where she lay and where Draco now slept, or maybe he wasn’t sleeping at all. She wanted to go to him, but she didn’t dare step out of bed. It was silly, she was not a child afraid of monsters under the bed, for some monsters, she knew all too well, walked right out in the open. She shivered.

A ball of golden light floated through the door and hovered there. Hermione had never seen anything like it, but she felt oddly peaceful. She slid out of bed, pulled a warm dressing gown over her pajamas, and followed it out the door, past Draco’s room, down one corridor and then another, until it floated through a door. Hermione debated on whether or not to open it, but then figured she had come this far. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

It was a small sitting room. Two wing chairs sat in front of a large fireplace, which was lighting the room with a warm fire. A small table was placed between the two chairs, and on it, a crystal tumbler glinted, its amber contents glowing in the mostly empty glass. Narcissa reached out from one of the seats and picked up the glass.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Narcissa said to Hermione from where she had been watching.

The golden ball of light hovered above the seat opposite Narcissa and Hermione took her place there, wondering, with some apprehension, what was coming.

Hermione only smiled weakly in response. How was she supposed to reply to that? You’re welcome hardly seemed appropriate, and anything else seemed insipid.

“Relax, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said. Hermione noticed the room was filled with books, and she wondered if Narcissa liked to read or if it was just décor, another collection used to fill the spaces in a home as large as this.

“I’m sorry, Mrs.—Narcissa,” she corrected.

“You apologize too much,” Narcissa said. “I would encourage you to reserve apologies for expressing remorse for something you have actually done wrong and not use them as a reflexive response for imagined offenses.”

Hermione was taken aback, but she also knew Narcissa was right. Before she could respond, Narcissa continued.

“I do believe I have treated you unkindly in the past. As you are a guest in my home, I must apologize and clear the air so that you might be more comfortable,” said Narcissa.

“Thank you. I...accept your apology,” said Hermione, wanting to add that an apology was unnecessary, but understanding that Narcissa would consider it ungracious to say as much.

Narcissa nodded and took a sip from the glass in her hand.

“May I offer you some refreshment?” Narcissa said.

“No, thank you very much,” said Hermione.

They sat in silence for a minute. Narcissa stared into the fire as if she were divining Hermione’s thoughts from the dancing flames. Perhaps she was.

“You love him, then?” Narcissa said out of nowhere, though it wasn’t really a question.

“Dearly,” she said, feeling incredibly awkward, but resolving to answer as honestly as possible.

“I have observed as much from Draco,” Narcissa said. Hermione blushed. “Our ancestors may not be pleased with this arrangement,” she said, referring to the portraits which had been oddly silent. She understood that Narcissa or Draco must have silenced them. “However,” she continued, “their opinions will not get in the way of my son’s happiness. I trust you will take care to prove me right in this matter.”

Hermione took a deep breath, then pulled the necklace out from beneath her shirt. A look of surprise flashed briefly across Narcissa’s face.

“I see,” was all she said. Hermione made a move to take the necklace off, but Narcissa waved it away, saying, “It is no longer mine, and it would please me to see you continue to wear it.”

Hermione rested her hands in her lap. She wondered if Lucius would be as accepting as his wife; it was unlikely.

“Miss Granger—”

“Call me, Hermione. Please,” she interrupted.

“Hermione,” Narcissa amended, “I hope you understand that, though you and Draco will face the censure of the wizarding world, you need not worry about it from this family—any of it. I will personally address any member who dares to speak a word against you.”

“That’s…” Hermione started, bewildered by Narcissa’s complete acceptance, but appreciative nonetheless. “Thank you,” she said, settling on expressing the dominant feeling flooding through her. “I hope you know that I won’t allow anyone to hurt him. The rest of the wizarding world will have no choice but to accept us. I will see to that.” She said it with a conviction that came from sheer will.

Narcissa smiled, and Hermione thought she saw a twinkle in her eye. “Never in my life have I been so pleased to be wrong about something as I am now. Malfoy women must be strong, we are protectors of the family, and I can see clearly that you will have no trouble filling that role. You’ll need some polishing around the edges, of course,” Narcissa said with an appraising look, “but you’ll do just fine.”

It took all of Hermione’s self-control not to wear her surprise on her face. She forced her mouth into a satisfied smile, one she had seen on Draco’s face many times.

“I expect you must be tired after the day’s events,” Narcissa said, and Hermione understood that she was being dismissed. The golden ball of light re-appeared near the door.

Hermione stood, smiled graciously at Narcissa, then followed the light back through the massive house, which suddenly felt much more welcoming. Hermione supposed she was too elated from the conversation she’d just had to notice anything unpleasant. When the golden ball of light extinguished in front of the final door, she opened it and found herself entering Draco’s room.

“I was beginning to think you had fallen asleep,” Draco said, “I was just about to go wake you up.”

“Were you?” she said, walking in the dark toward the sound of his voice. She wondered how he would have done it, then bumped into his nightstand. “Lumos,” she said, and then “Nox,” when she had removed her dressing gown and climbed into his bed.

“Remembered you’re a witch, have you?” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Are you going to talk the rest of the night or—” she said, but then he had kissed her, his lips firmly against hers, boldly claiming what was his. And she was, there was no conflict in her mind about it.

“Em,” Draco said quietly. His hand found its way between her legs and was doing what it could to rouse her. “You frightened me this morning. If you had told me about the stones sooner…”

“I know. I—" she started, but he put his other hand over her mouth, and she quieted. He was spreading the fluids between her legs, and she quietly anticipated his next move.

“Don’t ever,” he said, grasping her arm roughly and flipping her onto her stomach, “do that,” he yanked her knickers off and pushed up her shirt, “again.” He spread her legs and forced the whole of his cock into her with one well-aimed thrust.

“Oh!” she cried. She hadn’t been fully prepared for that, but she found her body responding to it anyway.

He spoke in the same low, forbidding voice he had used a moment ago, “Have I hurt you?”

“No,” she said feeling utterly safe despite the rough handling and not a little turned on because of it.

He took hold of her wrists and pinned them against the bed on either side of her head. A thrill of excitement shot through her body. Draco pulled out, then slammed into her again. She bit her lip to stop the noise from escaping, but a small whimper broke free anyway.

“Promise me,” he said, thrusting again. He slid in easily now.

“How can I?” she gasped. He continued driving into her, causing pain and pleasure at the same time. His hands were strong, and she still couldn’t move. If she closed her eyes, she could picture his beautifully curved biceps flexing, the taut muscles in his forearms working to hold her still. She shivered.

“Granger,” he growled, stopping his movements altogether. He kissed her where her neck gently sloped to her shoulder, then his teeth grazed her skin and he bit down, pinching a bit of flesh between his teeth hard enough to leave a mark.

She made a whining noise in response. He thought she was goading him, and maybe some part of her was. Draco slid his hands over hers, then interlaced their fingers. She felt the full weight of him on top of her preventing her from moving her hips, preventing her from stimulating the nerves that lined the soft flesh gripping his rigid organ.

“Promise,” he said into her ear. But she didn’t know what kind of promise he wanted her to make. She wondered if there was a realistic promise to make, but instead of thinking of what that could be, she wondered how long he would lay there, cock filling her but not moving. Godric, she wanted more.

“Tell me what you want me to say,” she said, willing at this point to make any promise he asked of her. She tried moving her hips, but he pressed into her harder.

“Promise you won’t hold anything back from me ever again,” he said, and she heard a faint waver in his voice.

“I promise,” she said, desperate now.

“Promise you’ll stop holding me at arms’ length,” he whispered, using his body to show her the closeness he desired. She understood.

“I promise,” she said, trying to convey the sincerity of it.

He resumed his movements again, then released her arms, but she didn’t bother to move them. She lay there splayed, entirely at his mercy.

“It’s all yours. Everything,” she said between thrusts. “I’m yours.” He was hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside her, and it became harder to focus on anything but the feeling of him. “Take it all.”

Draco’s hand slid beneath her, quickly finding her clit and applying pressure so that when he drove her into the mattress, she would rub against him.

“Faster,” she demanded, and he complied.

Draco moaned into her ear, and she let the pleasure break over her as well. When the sensation ebbed, she pulled his hand out from under her, then just lay there trying to catch her breath.

“Next time you do that,” she said as he climbed off, allowing her to finally turn over. “Let’s try silk ties.”

“Merlin, I love you,” he said, laughing at the unexpected request. She smiled, pleased with her ability to surprise him.

“Dray?” she said after a few beats.

“Yes, love?” he answered.

“I am sorry, you know. And I really do promise not to keep things from you anymore, not on purpose,” she told him. She didn’t want him to think she had only said what she needed to say to get what she wanted.

“I know, love,” he said. He kissed her tenderly, and she ran her hand through his hair. “Now, sleep. I can’t have you showing up to breakfast with dark circles beneath your eyes.”

“And what of bite marks?” she asked.

“Nothing that can’t be covered with a jumper—not the sexy one that hangs off your lovely shoulder, that won’t do, but perhaps that dowdy pink thing you love so much,” he said.

“Hey!” she said, smacking him playfully.

“Goodnight, love,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

“Goodnight,” she said, smiling. As she drifted off to a peaceful sleep, she thought that Christmas at Malfoy Manor might just be more enjoyable than she could have hoped for.


	9. January 1999

Hermione and Draco ended up staying at Malfoy Manor until the day after New Year’s Day. On Christmas Eve, Hermione had been surprised to find that Narcissa had invited her sister, Andromeda, and baby Teddy to join them. On Christmas morning, they had exchanged gifts, and Hermione also received gifts from Ginny, Harry, and even Mrs. Weasley. Hermione felt something akin to regret when they packed up their things that Saturday and headed back to her house for their final weekend before they returned to Hogwarts.

“Do we have to do this?” Draco said.

He was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her work her way through her closet trying to find something suitable to wear. Nothing was right—one outfit was too casual, the next too dressy, the one after too uncomfortable. If Draco hadn’t looked so polished, she probably wouldn’t have thought twice about her own clothes. As it was, everything she had put on would make her look incredibly shabby next to him.

Her indecisiveness had cost them a lot of time; Hermione hated to be late. And now Draco was complaining about having dinner with Harry and Ginny—something he had already agreed to. She turned toward him, wearing only jeans and a bra, put one hand on her hip, and drew in a breath preparing to scold him.

“Alright, alright!” he said before she could speak; he knew what was coming. “Maybe I just need a little more incentive,” he said, hopefully.

She looked him over. He could have been going to a funeral in his black wool trousers, wide-necked black shirt, and finely-tailored black suit coat, sleeves pushed up as if he were daring Harry to comment on his dark mark. She couldn’t be upset with him, especially when he looked like that, and she rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself for giving in to him. Draco smirked as she walked toward him.

“Only a little incentive,” she said when she stood in front of him, just out of arm’s reach.

“Have it your way,” he replied, knowing full well that by holding back she was punishing herself as much as she was punishing him.

She took a step closer and ran her hands through his hair in a way she knew he liked. Draco put his hands around her waist and pulled her close enough for him to plant a kiss on her abdomen.

“They’ll be expecting us soon,” she said, sighing.

“Let them wait,” Draco said.

Hermione looked down at him and smiled. Draco pulled her bra straps off her shoulders, then lifted her breasts from the thin fabric; he cupped one with his hand and gently stroked her nipple with his thumb.

“I should finish getting dressed,” she said.

Draco continued stroking her, and said, “You looked great in the last outfit and the one before that and the one before that, I don’t know why you’re still undecided.” He never took his eyes away from her chest. She pulled away, overstimulated and exasperated.

“Easy for you to say,” she huffed. “You make it look so effortless.”

“Love, sit down,” he said. He stood, gently grasped her upper arms, then sat her on the bed. “Are you sure we don’t have just ten minutes?”

“Draco!” she said. She didn’t need the temptation; they were running late, and she was more undressed now than she was three minutes ago.

“Sorry, love,” he said, then turned away and strode to her closet.

She fixed her bra, wondering why she was so worried. It was just dinner with Harry and Ginny at his place. Oh right, Harry and Draco were going to be spending an entire evening together with only she and Ginny as buffers. Ginny and Draco had come a long way, but it had taken months for Ginny to accept him. Well, they had to start somewhere, didn’t they?

Draco came back a minute later, and handed her a stack of clothes, “Put these on,” he said. She took them and changed while he watched.

She removed the jeans she had on in favor of a pair of fitted, dark-wash jeans, a burgundy cowl neck jumper that she had borrowed from her mother’s closet some time ago, and a pair of short, dark brown boots. She evaluated the outfit in the mirror—it was quite flattering, actually. The emerald ring was lost in the folds of the neckline, so she lifted it out of obscurity.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” he said, smirking.

“No,” she said tilting her head back as she drew close to him. She reached between his legs and massaged his bulge with her open palm, looking up at him through her lashes. “But this is,” she said when she had awakened his cock.

He kissed her, pushing his hands up under her jumper. Godric, she wanted him, but she remembered they were supposed to be leaving.

“Tease,” he said, scowling when she pulled away.

She looked in the mirror, deciding that she didn’t really need to bother with elaborate hair and makeup—she would throw on some mascara and maybe lipstick before they left and call it a day. And if she didn’t do that…

“Granger, what are you scheming?” he said, commenting on the look that crossed her face.

“You have five minutes,” she said.

He wasted no time, closing the space between them, kissing her so hard he left her breathless. They walked toward the bed, still attached at the lips, and when they were at the foot, he turned her around so that she was facing away from him, her back pressed into his chest.

“I can work with that,” he said into her ear, as his hands slid around her waist and unfastened her jeans. He pushed her jeans and knickers down to her thighs, then put one hand between her legs, while the other slid beneath her jumper and cupped her breast. Just when she really began to enjoy it, he pulled away, put a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed, bending her over the bed. She rested her palms on the mattress to keep herself steady as Draco guided his cock into her from behind.

“Merlin!” she cried when he eased into her. She didn’t even care if she had enough time to reach an orgasm, this feeling was worth it. His hands grasped her hips and he thrust with all the purposeful intent of a man with a time limit.

“Are five minutes going to be long enough for you?” he said after a bit, slowing down enough to get the words out.

“Three. Don’t stop!” she cried, not wanting him to disturb the rhythm that was bringing her ever closer to bliss. “I don’t care, just fuck me.”

And he did, moving with steady determination, until a minute later she cried out, legs growing suddenly weak. He held her hips firmly then drove into her twice more and groaned, folding over her, so they collapsed on the bed.

“Was that incentive enough?” she asked, enjoying the feeling of being crushed beneath the weight of him.

“Love, I will go wherever you wish to take me,” Draco told her. “But…I would have done so anyway.”

“Dray, we really do have to go now,” she said, pushing him off of her and standing up. She pulled up her jeans as Draco fastened his trousers. He didn’t look even a little bit rumpled. “Godric, you look so fucking hot,” she said. She wondered if she would ever get enough of him. She was an addict, and he was her drug of choice—but it wasn’t just the sex, it was his very presence.

Draco straightened her jumper, pulled the necklace out of her collar, and pushed a rogue curl away from her face. “And you,” he said, “look good enough to eat. Perhaps later,” he said, brushing her cheek with a kiss. And she could feel the heat spreading across her face and down her chest. Draco laughed. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her down the stairs.

***

Since Hermione had never been to Harry’s new flat, they decided it would be easiest to take the Floo Network. They arrived, first Hermione and then Draco, in a puff of ash ten minutes after they were supposed to have been there. Draco had just removed the ash from their clothes when Ginny walked into the room.

“Finally!” Ginny said to Hermione, giving her a quick hug. Ginny held Hermione at arm’s length, looking Hermione over with that keen eye of hers, and said, “No need to ask what took you so long.” Hermione reflexively ran a hand over her hair.

“At least we’ve managed to put our shirts on properly,” Draco said to her, nodding in the direction of the tag just below Ginny chin. She blushed scarlet in a rare moment of embarrassment.

“Thanks for that, Malfoy,” she said, then walked out of the room and called out, “Harry! They’re here!”

Hermione gave Draco a reproving look.

“What?” he said, “I did her a favor. We couldn’t leave her like that all evening. Besides, Ginny can handle a little sarcasm.”

“Fine. I’ll give you that much,” Hermione replied.

Hermione looked around the living room. It was spacious, but not huge. The walls were a sand color and the furniture—comfortable, but somehow masculine—was in various shades of neutral—grays and blues. Even the chandelier, with its geometric lines and large round bulbs the size of quaffles, managed to look unassuming, though it was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. All in all, it was just the sort of simple comfort she expected from Harry.

“Hermione!” Harry said entering the room, his hair slightly untidier than usual. Harry gave her a hug, then turned to Draco.

“A housewarming gift,” Draco said, handing Harry a bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy.

“Uh, thanks, Malfoy,” said Harry. He looked surprised by the gesture.

“I’d have brought you one from our private stores, but I thought you might like one that hadn’t been tainted by the Dark Lord,” Draco drawled. Hermione tensed, wondering how Harry would respond.

“Right, I prefer my brandy without a splash of Horcrux, thanks,” said Harry with his characteristic dry humor.

“Getting right down to it, I see,” said Ginny now wearing her shirt right side out. She was only wearing jeans and a simple long-sleeve shirt, but she had taken the time to do her makeup and Hermione was in awe of the smoky eye effect she had managed to attain.

“I was going to bring some Gin, but figured you didn’t need any more of that,” Draco said, smirking. He was really toeing the line, but she knew he wasn’t actually trying to provoke Harry. It was only his way of clearing the air without having an otherwise awkward conversation.

“All that he can handle,” Ginny retorted, never one to back down from a bit of good-natured teasing. Hermione supposed it was an effect of growing up with brothers, but then realized it was a disservice to Ginny to discount her own temperament in the matter—wasn’t any personality trait the result of multiple influencers, including, and maybe especially, those one was born with?

“Yeah, this is getting awkward,” said Harry, “so why don’t I show you around?”

Harry and Ginny led them out of the room, and Hermione gave Draco another look. He only smiled and shrugged unapologetically, then slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.

Harry walked them through the flat, showing them a kitchen with stone counters and wood cabinets, a small dining room, three bedrooms, and even a small roof garden. They stood up there for a few minutes, taking in the view. Gorgeous Edwardian buildings sat in quiet majesty along the wide tree-lined avenues. Here and there people could be seen walking with their dogs or children, but mostly it was quiet. Green canals, lined with houseboats snaked through the neighborhood only a block away.

“This place is amazing, Harry,” said Hermione. “All of it,” she said looking over the neighborhood.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “I like it. It’s quiet. People don’t bother me—it’s mostly muggles, so that helps.”

“You grew up with muggles, didn’t you?” said Draco, curiously.

“Yeah. I expect you will have read all about it in Rita’s book,” said Harry, a bit of the old snark coming through.

“I don’t read trash,” Draco said, “And Rita Skeeter doesn’t write anything else.”

“Here, here!” said Ginny. “According to Rita, Harry and I are getting married.”

“No, no, Gin,” said Harry, falling into a familiar banter, “we’ve already eloped and are now expecting.”

“Oh, right,” Ginny said, “I hope you don’t get angry when I’ve forgotten our anniversary next year. I’ll have my hands full with our baby, you know, and, it doesn’t help that I don’t remember our wedding at all.”

“I forgive you in advance,” said Harry. “But you shouldn’t be surprised when I seek love elsewhere.” Ginny swatted his arm, and Harry reacted with enough drama to still even Rita’s Quick-Quotes Quill.

Hermione listened to their exchange with amusement. She wished she could have brushed off Rita’s nonsense as quickly as they did, but she supposed that maybe the story had hit an already exposed nerve. Draco’s thumb caressed her hand, and she knew he must be thinking about the story as well.

Harry looked at his watch, “We should probably head to the restaurant now if we want to make it on time for our reservation.”

“I thought we were having dinner here,” said Hermione, surprised.

“Well,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I might have burnt dinner while I was…getting ready.”

Ginny blushed, and Draco laughed under his breath.

“Anyway, there’s this great little place on the water,” Harry told them, “I think you’ll like it.”

They had a pleasant walk through the neighborhood. When they reached the canal, they walked along a bright blue wrought iron fence until they found an opening to a short staircase leading down to the water’s edge. The path along the riverside meandered past one colorful houseboat after another; the array of colors made the whole look like the scattered remains of a well-used crayon collection floating end to end along the banks of the river.

“I thought about getting a houseboat,” said Harry, “but when I went inside to look at them, I felt like I was back in the cupboard under the stairs. No thanks.”

Ginny frowned. Hermione could see Draco considering Harry’s words with something that looked like surprise. Draco had always accused Harry of being entitled, but maybe he was beginning to understand the truth about Harry.

There was a break in the vessels, and they continued walking until they reached a merlot-colored boat that sat alone near a bend in the canal. Planters with small shrubs and hanging plants sat along both sides of the roof, giving it an inviting appeal. A shimmering script read, “Circe’s Isle.”

“It’s owned by a veela and her husband,” Harry explained. “I thought it might be easier to go to a wizarding restaurant.” He glanced at Draco and Hermione smiled, appreciating Harry’s attempt to put Draco more at ease, though she wasn’t sure it would be better than going to a muggle restaurant.

As they drew near to the entrance, Ginny spoke up, “Harry, can we stop for a second?”

“We’ll go ahead,” Hermione told them.

“I’ve made the reservation under Dudley Dursley,” Harry instructed. Hermione nodded and turned away, leaving Harry and Ginny to talk in hushed voices.

When they ducked into the entrance, Hermione said, “I’m just going to run to the loo. Do you mind letting them know we are here?” And before he could respond, she kissed him on the cheek and dashed away.

Somehow a rock had become lodged in her shoe, and it was driving her mad. Once inside the small room, she removed the offending stone, then smoothed down her wind-blown hair and returned to Draco.

“I think I made myself very clear when I said we don’t serve your kind here,” the host was saying to Draco with a sneer. Draco had a bored look on his face, but Hermione could see a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“Exactly what kind is that?” said Hermione, sliding her hand into Draco’s and casting the host an icy glare that would have frozen him if she’d put any magic behind it. She knew Draco didn’t like her fighting his battles, but Draco’s hands were tied and hers weren’t.

“Miss Granger, I…” he stammered, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize—”

“That we have a reservation for four?” she said, “Or that you were going to have a witness to your prejudice?” Draco squeezed her hand, silently willing her to stop.

“Is there a problem?” Harry said, coming up behind them.

“Only that there doesn’t seem to be a table available for us,” Hermione said, trying hard to dampen her temper and speak evenly. She would love nothing more than to put this wizard in his place, but then, she supposed, she wouldn’t be much better than he.

“Mr. Potter!” the host was beside himself now, and Hermione’s anger flared—that he would show such deference to them while showing such hatred toward Draco infuriated her.

“There must have been a mix up in the reservation book,” the host said. Harry’s good-natured smile was gone.

“I’ll be right back,” Ginny said, and then turned away with a swish of her long red hair.

“Granger, I can’t feel my fingers,” Draco said under his breath, and Hermione relaxed her grip.

“See that you fix it so that my guests and I can enjoy our dinner as planned. I would hate to stop coming here,” Harry said.

“Please follow me,” the host said. His voice was steady, but when he picked up the menus, his hands shook slightly.

He showed them to a private compartment at the bow of the boat. It was lined with oak panels and wide windows. On either side of the boat were quilted leather seats in the same shade of crimson as the heavy velvet curtains, which were held open with braided gold ropes. A rectangular table was nestled between the bench seats. On the small marble countertop just inside the door was a shallow glass bowl containing one water lily that bloomed slowly revealing a sparkling light in the center which faded when the petals fell, then bloomed all over again. The space was comfortable, yet surprisingly elegant.

“My apologies, sir. Drinks will be on the house,” the host said to Harry.

“I don’t think it’s me you need to be apologizing to,” Harry said, sliding into one of the bench seats.

Hermione slid into the seat across Harry, forcing the host to address Draco, who was taller by half a head.

“My sincerest apologies…sir,” the man said.

Draco only nodded in reply, then took a seat.

“We’ll have two glasses of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky,” Harry said.

Hermione could see the host debating on whether or not to defer Harry to the server, then he said, “Right away, sir.”

“Make it a double of Blishen’s Firewhisky, neat. For both of us,” Draco said, giving the host an imperious stare.

“Of course,” then the host hurried out of the room.

Draco nodded a thanks at Harry, who just shrugged. Ginny entered the room, sliding into the seat next to Harry.

“What did I miss?” she said.

“Drinks,” said Hermione.

The host returned with two tumblers of firewhisky, hoping, perhaps, to ingratiate himself with them after the earlier incident. It wasn’t going to work, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

“I’ll have a glass of elderflower wine,” Hermione told him.

“Firewhisky for me,” said Ginny.

“Of course,” he said, turning as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Malfoy,” Ginny said when the host had left, “what in Merlin’s name did you do to him?”

“Oh, you know,” Draco said, “just threatened his entire family, and, oh yeah, asked for our sodding table.”

“Maybe a wizarding restaurant—” Hermione started to say, but Draco squeezed her hand under the table. At the same time, a woman with white-gold hair and skin that glowed like the moon glided in.

“Evenink,” she said to the group, her voice tinkling like a chime, “I am told of mix up wit books. I am Circe,” she gave a small head nod to indicate that she was The Circe of Circe’s Isle, “Pleese accept apologies. ‘Ee won’t be bozering you again. Do tell me eef you haf any more troubles.” Then she floated out of the room without another word.

To their credit, Harry and Draco only had a glazed look in their eyes, their mouths did not hang open as she had seen some males do in the presence of veelas. Ginny had a dreamy look on her face that disappeared when Hermione cleared her throat and proposed a toast.

“To new friendships,” she said, raising her glass.

“And old ones, too,” said Harry, and the four of them held up their glasses in a gesture of goodwill that made even Draco break into a genuine smile.

Under the table, Draco slid his hand onto Hermione’s thigh and gave her an affectionate squeeze. She took it as forgiveness for the scene she had made earlier, and she relaxed, finally, watching as Harry and Ginny made an effort to include Draco in their conversation about a common interest—quidditch.

Maybe she would be able to hold onto her friendship with Harry and Ginny after all, and Draco could finally find a place in the inner circle of the boy who had rejected him so many years ago. They spent the rest of the evening building a tenuous trust that could eventually build into genuine like. It was enough for now.

***

“Em, about this evening,” Draco said.

“Hmm?” she said as she packed in preparation for their return to Hogwarts the next day.

She looked at Draco, who was comfortably reclined against her headboard, wondering if he was upset about her reaction in the restaurant, but there wasn’t a trace of anger on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You…what?” she said, setting down the stack of books she had picked up from her desk. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because you would never experience such poor treatment if it weren’t for me,” he said, looking at his hands as if he were deciding whether or not to conjure a bouquet of flowers.

“So now you’re responsible for the behavior of others?” she said, upset not just because of the way he had been treated, but because he felt the need to then apologize for it. She could easily guess what he was thinking now, and she sighed. Outside the window, the sun was setting in brilliant shades of pink and purple, reflecting the fiery protest in her heart.

When she turned back to him, he was looking at her with steely grey eyes, a frightening determination shining through them.

“You will always have to see the worst of wizard-kind because of me,” he said.

A hysterical laugh clawed its way out of her. “Do you think I spent the last year backpacking around the country on holiday? Have I not already seen the worst of our kind without you by my side?” She needed him to understand, to stop apologizing. “This? This upsets me, but only because I love you and I’ll be damned if I’m going to just stand by and let you be abused by some pompous, self-righteous arsehole.”

“You love me, but,” he pressed, “what you saw during the war was like a fairy tale compared to what I witnessed, to what I did. You say it so easily, but how can you really mean it when you don’t know everything?”

And so they were back to that. She pushed up the sleeve on her right arm and held it out for him to see. “This is the stuff of fairy tales, is it?” Draco winced. “Grimm’s fairy tales, maybe,” she muttered. Then, she sighed again, “Draco, don’t you understand? There is nothing you could tell me that would change the way I feel.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, “but it would change your opinion of me, and then you might not think any of this is worth it.”

“Then tell me!” she pleaded, wanting desperately to wrap herself around him, but she couldn’t move—his eyes held her firmly in place.

He rose from the bed and stood in front of her, looking her over appraisingly, like some rare specimen of butterfly. “Fine,” he said finally, “but we do it my way.”

She had no idea what he meant by that, but she didn’t dare to ask lest he change his mind. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed the straps of her tank top and bra down her arms to her waist. The window was single-paned and the cold winter air pushed against her with its icy hands, pebbling her skin and pulling her nipples taut.

Then, he grasped her upper arms and pulled her into a kiss. The sensation of her nipples grazing roughly against the cotton thermal he wore generated a tingling feeling between her legs. She could feel him pouring his whole heart into her, shaking it out like the jagged pieces of a dangerous jigsaw puzzle. He finally pulled away, and she felt a desperate need to put it back together again.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. He studied her as if he were trying to memorize the exact shade of her eyes, the placement of every sun-kissed freckle, the gentle curve of her mouth.

“You know I do,” she said, thinking not of the words that left her mouth but of his hands, which were busy unbuttoning, then unzipping, then pushing down her jeans along with every last bit of clothing she wore. Her whole body hummed in anticipation.

“Say it,” he said, freeing her from the pile of clothes around her ankles. The sky had grown dark, and the only light in the room was the full moon shining through the window.

“I love you,” she answered dutifully.

He was kneeling in front of her, and now he ran his hands up from her ankles, over the curve of her calves, up her thighs until he reached the soft patch of hair between her legs. She ran her hands through his hair.

“I want you,” she said, emphasizing the choice she made to be with him.

His hands rested on her hips, and his tongue parted her, opening her up to him.

“I need you,” she continued, the words coming out in a whimper as she admitted a desire that drew her to him beyond any reason, beyond any rational choice of her own.

His tongue slid over her clit, and she felt his fingers dig into her as her legs grew weak. Months of trial and error and taught him what she liked and he roused her quickly, licking and sucking artfully, and plunging one finger then two into the depths of her.

She cried out, collapsing into his lap as the pleasure brought her to her knees. She wrapped her arms around him tightly as her sex pulsed in desperate longing for him. She released him and felt him pull off his shirt. She pressed against him, pleased by his warmth against her breasts, and then kissed him, surprised to find she enjoyed the lingering taste of her on his tongue.

He lifted her as he stood, and she wrapped herself around him as he walked to the bed then laid her gently on her back. She heard the sounds of his zipper, of clothes dropping to the floor, and then felt him climb over her. She spread her legs and waited. She could see him looming over her in the darkness. For a moment, he only sat there, kneeling between her legs, but then he leaned down and kissed her, and when he did, she felt the smallest trickle of liquid pour from his mouth to hers. She swallowed reflexively.

“What was that?” she said, confused.

“A potion,” he said.

“And what does—oh!—” she cried as he slid inside her, making her thoughts go fuzzy. But she forced herself to focus. “What…what does it do?” she breathed.

He pushed into her until he was all the way inside. “Let’s you into my dreams. It’s the one I made during our first potions assignment.” He pulled out slowly.

“Oh,” she said, voice quaking. Some part of her mind was trying to figure out its use in healing.

He pushed back inside of her, stretching her deliciously as he did. “It helps a healer understand what plagues their patient,” he breathed into her ear.

“Mmm,” was all she could say. But then she understood what it meant. He was letting her into his nightmares. She shivered.

“Love?” he said, “Are you okay?”

“I, yes, don’t stop,” she told him. She didn’t want to think about what she might see right now. She wanted to be here, in this moment.

“Do you still want to know?” he said, beginning to move faster, more roughly.

“I…oh…harder,” she directed, and he complied. “Mmmhmmm,” she murmured as he pounded into her. She would probably have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. He pumped furiously now, his need taking over.

“Em, I…,” she said between breaths, “ I can’t hold back.”

“Then, don’t,” she said squeezing her muscles around his cock in encouragement. It was enough to send him over the edge. She pulled him against her as he shook, his organ still pulsing inside of her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hermione said as Draco slid off her and gathered her up in his arms. “I promise.”

He had fucked her into a blissful, limb-heavy state of relaxation that pushed her right to the edge of sleep. She loved it when he handled her roughly, and for some reason, that thought led her to the potion. In a way, he had chosen the most brutal method of revealing the truth—dropping her in the midst of an event without even the comfort of his conscious presence. Perhaps he wanted to challenge her to keep her word, or maybe, it was the easiest way for him to tell her the whole truth. She drifted to sleep fighting a rising dread about what she was about to experience. Draco’s arm had relaxed around her, and his steady breathing told her he had already fallen asleep.

_Lucius Malfoy was on his knees in the middle of a wide circle of Death Eaters._

_“You have failed me too many times, Lucius,” said Voldemort in a cold voice that sent a chill through Hermione even though she knew he was finally gone._

_A trickle of blood dripped from Lucius’ brow onto his cheek. Voldemort was circling him like a predatory animal about to go in for the kill._

_“I’m sorry, my lord,” Lucius said, weakly. “I promise to make it up to you.”_

_“Silence!” Voldemort shouted. “You are no longer of use to me. Don’t worry, you will die quickly, and, merciful master that I am, I will spare you from witnessing the death of your family.”_

_Narcissa had one hand on Draco’s shoulder. They watched, for all outward appearances, impassively, from a place just inside the circle, putting as much distance as was possible between themselves and Voldemort. Hermione could see the tiniest hint of a frown on Narcissa’s face. Hermione desperately wished she could comfort Draco, but she was nothing more than a ghost, and it was almost too much to bear._

_“Avad—”_

_“Wait!” Draco shouted, Hermione could see Narcissa’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, but no one else appeared to notice. Draco shrugged her off and stepped forward, and Voldemort lowered his wand, looking curiously at the boy who had dared to interrupt him. “I can step in for my father. I have access to Hogwarts and Dumbledore and Potter; I can be useful there.”_

_“No,” said Hermione to herself. The words had escaped before she could remember that she was speaking into the abyss. There was no one to hear her, the events she viewed had already occurred, and she couldn’t change them now._

_Draco’s words did not do him any favors in the eyes of those who would condemn him for his choice. But the inflection of his voice, the subtle indicators in his expression betrayed his true intentions, and Hermione knew he only said what he needed to say to sway Voldemort’s favor and effectively save his family from immediate death. Narcissa’s face paled, but her expression of disinterest remained fixed._

_Even from where she stood, Hermione could see a wild glee in Voldemort’s eyes as he considered Draco’s offer._

_“This is acceptable to you, Lucius? His servitude for your life?” said Voldemort, posing an impossible question, and, monster that he was, expecting an answer._

_“If it pleases you, my Lord,” Lucius said. Draco was looking at Voldemort and couldn’t have seen the pained expression on his father’s face._

Hermione watched the next scenes flash by on a dizzying carousel through her mind. She remained fixed but everything else moved around her: Draco handing Slughorn the poisoned bottle of mead, Draco purchasing the cursed necklace in Borgin & Burkes, Draco disarming Dumbledore and holding him at wand point, Draco watching Charity Burbage collapse in a flash of green light in his home, Draco performing the Cruciatus Curse on younger students under the watchful eyes of the Carrows, Draco being punished by Voldemort himself for every failure.

And then they were in Malfoy Manor again.

“No,” Hermione whispered. She didn’t want to relive this moment.

Ron was shouting at Bellatrix to take him instead of her. The look on his face as he was separated from Hermione was heartbreaking. She could hear him screaming her name after they were dragged from the room; she hadn’t heard anything at all when it had happened, frozen as she had been in terror. Draco stood in silent contrast on the other side of the room, his face pale, fists clenched, frozen in place.

“I don’t want to see this! Draco, wake up,” she cried. “Wake up!”

And suddenly she was back in her room, heart beating as if she had been in the midst of a marathon. She burst into tears and Draco wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “But now you understand.”

“I…” she sobbed, “I understand,” her lip was trembling, “that you had no choice.”

“But I did,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer for a moment, instead, allowing the sadness and the tears to have their way with her until the worst of it passed and she began to feel calm again.

“I know what I saw, and it hasn’t changed anything,” she said, tears subsiding.

She would save her anger and her sadness for what he went through for another time. Right now he needed her strength and her fire. Draco was silent.

“Have you forgotten about the ring?” she said.

“It only speaks of potential; you still have a choice,” he said, and she could hear in his voice that he was waiting. Waiting for the rejection he was sure would come; waiting for the day he would be robbed of the happiness he didn’t believe he deserved.

“I made my choice,” she said, firmly. “I choose you. I choose love. I choose us.”

“I don’t—” he started to argue.

She sat up. “Draco Malfoy!”

“I was only going to say—”

“Will you stop?” she said.

The dream still clung to her like a sickly sweet perfume, and suddenly she felt ill. She bolted to the toilet and purged every wretched memory of that time until there was nothing left. She needed air, and after she washed up, she walked downstairs, then out the back door and sat on a small wooden bench in the garden. It was freezing—she hadn’t even put on her dressing gown—but it didn’t matter, she wouldn’t be out there long.

She just needed to cry without Draco thinking it was because she regretted her choice or because she couldn’t handle the truth. She lifted her face toward the moon and let the tears flow quietly.

He hadn’t wanted any of it. She knew most of what he had done in sixth year, but she understood now that he had only done what he felt he had to do. Sometimes the only choice that makes sense is the one you make for the sake of the ones you love. Hermione thought of her parents, and the awful choice she’d had to make. Would they forgive her for robbing them of a year, two years of their life? She didn’t know. What she did know for certain was that she loved Draco. Merlin, how she loved him.

“Are you going to let me speak now?” Draco’s voice drifted from just behind her.

She wiped away her tears.

“I don’t deserve you, but…” he sat down on the bench next to her and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. He was warm, and she shivered. “But I will live the rest of my life trying to be the man who does.”

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her back inside. In the glow of the moonlight, she thought she could see a glistening tear track, but then they were in the house again. She never wanted to be anywhere else except in his arms. The last thing she remembered was Draco carrying her upstairs and setting her gently in bed.

***

“Dray,” said Hermione.

They had apparated back to Hogsmeade Sunday afternoon and traveled to Hogwarts from there. It was nice to be back in their own rooms—funny how this felt more like home these days than the house she had grown up in.

“Yes, love?” he said, brushing his fingertips up and down the length of her arm. They were relaxing in her bed.

There had been something bothering her for days, but she hadn’t put her finger on it. Now, as her mind drifted toward sleep, it bubbled to the surface.

“I’ve been thinking about Stonehenge,” she said.

“What about it?” he replied.

“Well, I’m just trying to figure out why I had such a strong reaction to it,” she said. “It must have something to do with Avebury, but that all seems too mundane.”

“Wake up in stone circles often, do you?” he said, sarcastically.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re right, that is odd, but I don’t remember anything terrible about being there. Not anything that would cause a reaction like the one I had.”

“Perhaps, love,” he said, “you are blocking something out of your memory. Or…” he said as if something had just occurred to him. “Em, you don’t think your memory has been modified or erased, do you?”

“I’m certain it hasn’t been modified, but I can’t say that bits haven’t been removed. I do seem to be missing chunks of time,” she said. “But why would only some of it have been removed? Why not everything?”

“I don’t know, love,” he said.

There was a knock on the door; they looked at each other. It wasn’t terribly late, but it was unusual for anyone to knock on either of their doors...ever.

Hermione got out of bed wondering who could be there. She could understand if it had been Draco’s door, but she hadn’t any idea who would be visiting her.

Hermione opened the door to see Pansy standing there. Pansy looked at Hermione with a matching look of surprise. Pansy’s eyes swept up and down the length of Hermione’s body, and Hermione thought about how she must look in the short Falcon’s shirt and long length of exposed legs.

Draco walked up behind her. “Pansy,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt!” Pansy said, and Hermione realized she must have thought she had walked in on them at an awkward moment.

“You didn’t,” said Hermione. “Come in,” she said, opening the door wider.

Pansy’s eyes flicked to Draco’s, then she said, “Sure, just for a minute, thanks.” She sounded nervous, and Hermione didn’t know if it was because she was flustered by their appearance—she in only a shirt and Draco with only flannel pajama pants—or if it had to do with whatever had brought her here.

“So,” said Draco, leaning casually against a wall and crossing his arms over his bare chest, “what brings you here?” Hermione looked at him, one part of her wondering why he was asking when Pansy had clearly come to see her, the other part of her wondering how soon she could get him fully undressed. He smirked, catching the look on her face, then shrugged and waited for Pansy to answer. Hermione rolled her eyes, frustrated, and turned back to Pansy, who sat on the other side of the sofa.

“It’s probably nothing,” Pansy said.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione started to say, then caught herself. Bollocks, she was doing it again. She took a deep breath. “Would you like some tea, Pansy?”

Pansy looked at Draco, and Hermione turned toward him, narrowing her eyes. It was obnoxious that Pansy felt she had to defer to Draco.

“Please excuse us a moment, Pansy. Make yourself comfortable,” said Hermione. She waved her wand at the fireplace, and the room lit up. Hermione took Draco by the hand and pulled him into her room, closing the door behind them.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said, lying through his teeth.

“Oh, yes, you bloody well do,” she snapped. “This is my room. Pansy came to see me. She doesn’t need your permission to come in or to have tea or to say whatever she was planning to say. So, stop acting like lord of the manor for two seconds and let her speak.”

“If I were ‘Lord of the Manor,’ then you,” he ran a finger along her jaw, “would be sent straight to the dungeons to await punishment for your insolence.” She blanched as she remembered Harry and Ron being dragged to the cellar in Malfoy Manor.

His eyes grew wide, realizing what he had just said. “Love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I…” she cleared her throat, “I know.” She exhaled. “Can you just relax? That’s all.”

She turned to leave, but Draco caught her wrist and pulled her close.

“Are we okay?” he said, his eyes searched her face.

She stood on her toes to lift herself just enough to press a soft kiss against his pliant lips. He put his arms around the small of her back and pulled her close, desperate for some physical reassurance of her forgiveness, the kiss becoming more impassioned.

Finally, Hermione pulled away. “Yes, Dray, we are okay,” she said. “Now let’s go, or she’s definitely going to think we’re shagging right now. But, for Godric's sake, put on a shirt. I can’t concentrate when you are walking around looking...like that.” She waved her hand at his bare chest.

He chuckled, enjoying her discomfort, pulled on a short-sleeved tee and followed her out of the room. Draco went to the kitchenette to brew some tea, and Hermione sat down next to Pansy.

She was about to apologize but caught herself. “Is everything okay?” Hermione asked. She put a hand on Pansy’s in a gesture meant to comfort and encourage.

Pansy glanced at Hermione’s hand, then said, “Yes. I’m fine. It’s not an emergency or anything. It’s just, I could use your advice on something.”

“My advice?” said Hermione, wondering what she could possibly offer Pansy that would be of value. Then she realized she was selling them both short by thinking that way. “Okay, what is it?”

Draco returned with three cups of tea.

“Thank you,” Pansy said, taking the cup he offered her with a curious glance at him. It was the same astonished look Hermione had given him the first time she had seen him making tea, and Hermione smiled.

Draco handed Hermione a cup and sat next to her so that Hermione was now squeezed into the small space between the two. She rolled her eyes, and waved her wand, conjuring a chair next to the sofa. She turned and gave Draco a pointed look when he hadn’t moved. He gave an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh, then relocated to the armchair.

“You were saying?” said Hermione. Pansy looked much more relaxed, and...amused.

Pansy took a sip of tea looking over her cup at Hermione with those large doe eyes. Then, Pansy said, “It’s just, I think I spotted Rookwood over the holiday.”

“What? Where?” Draco said, his voice sharp.

“At Stonehenge,” Pansy said, looking at him. Something silent passed between them, and Hermione made a note to ask Draco about it later.

“What would he be doing there?” said Hermione. “He couldn’t have known I would be there.” A thought began to form in her mind, but before it had taken shape, Pansy spoke again.

“Look, none of us are safe while he’s on the loose,” she said. “So, I wanted to know if you had any thoughts about what I should do...I mean, your friends are searching for him, right?”

“Yes,” she said, remembering, “yes, they are.”

“She could contact Harry,” Draco said.

“No, remember he was saying that he’s focusing on Nott, Sr. with one team of Aurors and Ron is working on the Rookwood case with another team?” she said. “You can send an owl to Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Pansy said, sighing impatiently.

“Oh, erm, okay, then. So, just do that, and make sure you share any information that might help them find and capture him,” Hermione said.

“Okay,” Pansy said.

“Do…you want us to go with you to the owlery?” Hermione said. Pansy looked over Hermione, probably trying to figure out whether or not the offer was sincere. This time, Pansy’s eyes did not look in Draco’s direction. Hermione snuck a quick glance and could see that he was very interested in his teacup.

“No need,” she said. “It can wait until morning.”

Pansy finished her tea, then looked from Hermione to Draco.

“Were you hoping for an invitation to stay?” Draco drawled.

“Is that on the table?” Pansy said, smirking.

“Parkinson, do you think I’d be willing to share anything with you?” Draco said. Hermione thought it was a bit harsh, but Pansy didn’t seem even a little bit offended.

“You don’t own everything, Draco, darling,” Pansy quipped, eyes grazing Hermione’s very exposed thigh as Pansy stood, “but I do actually have plans.”

Hermione walked Pansy to the door, while Draco took their teacups to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Pansy said, taking Hermione’s hand and squeezing it. She leaned forward and kissed Hermione on the cheek the same way she had seen Pansy do to Draco in her dream. Without thinking, Hermione put her fingertips over the corner of her mouth where Pansy’s lips had brushed over hers. An accident, most likely, or maybe that’s the way it was done. This type of greeting always felt too intimate to Hermione, but she wasn’t one to reject such a harmless gesture, especially from someone she was beginning to consider a friend.

“Goodnight, Parkinson,” Draco said in dismissal. He wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her backward against him possessively. She thought he was ridiculous, but suddenly she could feel the soft cotton shirt betraying her irritation with what was undoubtedly the appearance of two small peaks of arousal.

“You’re welcome,” Hermione said as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “Have a good night.”

Pansy smiled and walked away.

When the door closed, Draco spoke, “You do realize you’re half-naked, don’t you?”

“Oh well, it’s only Pansy,” said Hermione, shrugging. “Or have I gotten you all worked up? I didn’t notice any such thing, but…” she lifted his shirt and let her hand graze over his abdomen and down into his pants. “Are you going to complain about me being half naked now?” she purred.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I want it all off. Now.” He bit her lip, and they stumbled their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake.

***

On Monday, classes resumed with a renewed focus. N.E.W.T.s seemed a lot closer this side of the holiday, and Hermione had thrown herself back into her studies with the result that she was completely spent by the time she reached the Great Hall for dinner on Friday night.

She collapsed onto the bench at the Gryffindor table with a huff.

“Long day?” Ginny said.

“Long week,” Hermione said.

“Where’s Draco?” Ginny asked.

“How should I know?” said Hermione, serving herself a bit of everything.

“Please. You two are practically joined at the...hip,” Ginny said, giggling. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” Hermione said, giving Ginny a pointed look.

“Ooh, you’ve made Ginny blush,” said Pansy sitting next to Hermione. “What did I miss? It must have been good.”

Luna took a seat next to Ginny.

“Hello,” Luna said looking around at the other girls.

“Hi, Luna,” Hermione said.

“I was just saying how—” Ginny started.

“—much she misses Harry,” said Hermione pursing her lips.

“Oh, well, Hermione doesn’t know what that’s like,” Pansy said turning to Hermione, “Speaking of, you might want to reconsider sneaking around in the dungeons—everyone does that and, let’s just say, I don’t think you want an audience.”

Ginny burst into laughter.

“The towers are usually empty,” Luna offered with a serene smile. “I go up there to read sometimes.”

“Don’t you two get enough time alone?” said Ginny.

Hermione sighed, resigning herself to the continuation of this line of inquiry.

“Enough?” she said. “No. Okay? I cannot get enough. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes, quite,” said Draco sliding into the seat on the other side of Hermione. She closed her eyes and shook her head, now wholly mortified to know he had heard her talking about him that way. His hand slid up her thigh under the table, and she opened her eyes to see him smirking.

“Ooh, dinner and a show,” said Pansy watching them with interest.

“Ugh! Pass,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

“Erm, Hermione?” said a voice Hermione didn’t recognize. She turned to see the familiar face of the dark-haired girl who had asked for her autograph at Hogsmeade station.

“Yes?” Hermione said to the dark-haired girl who was practically quaking and her Hufflepuff friend. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“It’s…” the Hufflepuff girl nudged her friend, “Emma. I wanted to, er, let you know...it’s a funny story...I mean, not really, I suppose,” Emma rambled.

Draco spoke up, “She won’t turn you to stone...unless you don’t get to the point soon. What is it?”

The Hufflepuff girl handed Hermione a copy of Witch Weekly. “It’s about the article, miss.”

“Article?” Hermione said, brow furrowing. Draco took the magazine and scanned the pages until he reached an article toward the middle of the journal.

“Hermione Granger: Princess of Peace or Self-Centered Siren?” Draco read, an edge in his voice. Ginny scowled, and Pansy looked on with interest. Oh, no. No, no.

Draco skimmed the article with clenched teeth, his grip on the magazine growing tighter with each passing moment. Ginny snatched the magazine from Draco’s hand before he crumpled the page beyond repair and began to read.

“‘Hermione Granger,’” Ginny read, “‘beloved war heroine’...blah, blah, blah...okay, here we go, …’This journalist has gotten an exclusive hold of a missive that appears to be a call for unity’...more nonsense …’but the signatures at the bottom of the page reveal her true intent. You heard it here first, The Hermione Granger is using none other than an ex-Death Eater to lift herself back into the public eye. If good deeds no longer do the trick, then dating bad boy, Draco Malfoy, once host to Lord Voldemort himself…’ lies and more lies, ‘Is this the real reason for her breakup with Ron Weasley?” Ginny stopped reading and threw the magazine onto the table. “Rubbish!”

Hermione glared at the girl who was now visibly trembling.

“I’m so sorry!” Emma said bursting into tears, “I had the letter hanging on my wall, and my aunt saw it over Christmas. I didn’t even know she had taken it until my mum sent me a letter and this copy of the magazine.”

“And who, exactly, is your aunt?” Draco said, biting back anger.

“R-Rita Skeeter,” she mumbled.

“What!?” Hermione shouted. Of all the people in all the world, this girl had to be related to Rita Skeeter. Why did she sign that paper? And why had she written her name in that letter? What a mess. And worst of all, Draco’s signature at the bottom had pulled him into the spotlight—a place he had been trying very hard to avoid.

“Calm down, love,” Draco said, evenly. Somehow, his anger settled hers. She took a deep breath.

“I never would have let her take it! I’m so sorry!” said Emma. The Hufflepuff girl put her arm around her friend, who had begun sobbing again. She did have to give the girl credit for bringing it to her attention right away.

“I… I suppose it wasn’t your fault,” said Hermione, trying to be merciful. The last thing she needed to do was blow up at the girl and make matters a hundred times worse.

“Run along, now,” Pansy said, shooing them. Emma looked relieved to be dismissed without being hexed, and the two girls hurried away to the Ravenclaw table.

“This is a disaster,” Hermione said. “The owls will start flying in with curses and unsolicited advice any moment now.” She turned to Draco, who seethed with quiet fury. “I’ve just made things so much worse for you!” She said, putting her hand in this. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she wanted to scream or cry or do something to let go of the feeling that was washing over. Stars began to flash in the edges of her vision.

“Breathe, love. You’re hyperventilating,” Draco said, voice softening for her.

She made an effort to breathe a few deep, slow breaths. She looked around the room, heads were turning in their direction. Was it because of the scene that had just passed or had they read the article, too? How dare Rita Skeeter! Hermione was going to make Rita rue the day she crossed her. Hermione’s anger flared, and her body began to shake with the effort of holding it in, angry tears burned behind her eyes.

“Excuse me,” she choked out to her friends. Then she stood and walked quickly from the Great Hall, holding onto as much composure as she could until she got away from the curious glances that were increasing with every step.

She fled through the castle, a million different thoughts crashing through her head. Finally, she reached the suits of armor.

“In veritas dolor!” she said. She walked through the wall wondering what truth could be found in all of this.

“Granger!” Draco thundered. Had he followed her? Had he been talking to her? “Stop, will you?” he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the nearest alcove. With a wave of his wand, a curtain fell over the door, and all other noise was shut out.

Draco gripped her upper arms.

“I’m going to find that woman, and—” said Hermione, letting her anger speak first.

“And what?” Draco said calmly. “Love, let me handle this.”

“You?” she said, her voice shrilly even to her own ears. “And what are you going to do about it? No, that’s a terrible idea.”

“Not me, love,” he said. “My mother. She saw the last article and took it upon herself to warn Rita about writing in the Prophet. I’m surprised she has the nerve to publish something in Witch Weekly,” he seemed to be thinking aloud. “Neither of us will have to do anything about this—our hands are clean.” His voice was hard and cold.

“Your mother?” Hermione asked. “She...why didn’t you tell me she intervened?”

“I didn’t want you to be upset,” he said.

“So…” she said, “you kept something from me…to protect me...again.”

Draco looked at her unapologetically. She knew he had good intentions, but she couldn’t let go of the principle.

“Help me understand,” she said. “When you said you wouldn’t keep things from me when you made me promise not to keep you in the dark, what was that? You telling me what I wanted to hear while extracting an oath to honesty from me?” She felt her anger turning on him.

His mouth had flattened into a line; he was repressing a response. Hermione closed the small distance between them and backed him against the wall, maintaining a centimeter of air between them.

“Was there something you wanted to say?” she challenged, her anger looking desperately for any outlet.

“You’re behaving irrationally,” he said in measured calm.

“Am I?” she said, a bit hysterically. Draco slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Don’t think you can use your Slytherin charm to get out of this one.” But she didn’t pull away.

“Em, I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I don’t think it’s me you’re really angry with.”

A laugh bubbled up from some deranged place in her brain. “Oh, that’s rich. Now you’re going to tell me how I feel?”

She pushed against his chest and freed herself from his arms. She turned to leave, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her back against him. His arm locked around her middle pinning her arms at her side. He placed his other hand over her heart for the space of three beats, then slid it upward over her neck until his hand was around her throat just under her jaw. He applied just enough pressure to encourage her to tilt her head back against his shoulder. He had effectively stilled her.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, his breath hot in her ear.

“And you?” she said through clenched teeth, pushing against him, but he tightened his grip. He had some nerve.

“Em, I’ve apologized, and I haven’t kept anything from you since the day I made that promise,” he said, logically.

“Yes, but…” she was losing ground. And worse, she felt herself responding to his touch. She squirmed in a very undignified manner.

“You, on the other hand, made a promise. And yet,” he said, pulling her head to the side so he could kiss her neck, “you are even now pushing me away.” He breathed the words against her neck, and she felt her kiss-moistened skin chill.

“I…” she tried to find some defense, but she knew he was right. She was being ridiculous. Worse than ridiculous, actually. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just, I know this is going to be awful for you, too, and it’s my fault, and there’s nothing I can do, and I...I let my anger get the better of me” she admitted, and his hand released her throat. Her emotions had erupted like a volcano, spewing scalding words and withering looks over anyone who came too near.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He said, as he ripped the buttons of her shirt and slipped his hand inside her bra, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple with his thumb until it rose to attention. Then, he pinched her rather hard.

“Ow!” she said, still locked in his arms.

“Do you think you can just apologize and I’ll forget about it?” He said in a controlled voice. He let go of her waist, then slid his hand up her thigh, and felt for the dampness between her legs. His touch sent a shiver through her and gooseflesh spread across her skin.

“What—” her throat had gone dry, she swallowed and continued, “What are you going to do about it?” She could feel his hardened organ pressing into her from behind.

“Perhaps I should just leave,” he said, knowing that this would be the worst punishment he could dole out, but his hand was still working between her legs, and she knew it was an empty threat. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To keep me away?”

“What? No,” she said. At that moment, she couldn’t make sense of the complicated dance she was doing. She felt unbalanced, and she only knew she didn’t want to pull him down with her.

“Tell me, then,” he said, “what shall I do with you?” He removed his hand from between her legs, and she heard him unzip his trousers.

“Whatever you want,” she said, her will crumbling beneath the weight of her desire. He pulled her knickers to the side, and she could feel the tip of his cock searching for a way inside her. For a moment, he pressed against the tight opening between her cheeks. Too far back.

She gasped, but he readjusted and pushed his way into her wet sex. He stretched her slowly, sliding in as far as the position would allow. Then, he ripped her shirt all the way open and pulled up her bra, exposing her breasts toward the curtain so that if someone had opened it…

“Whatever I want?” he said, knowing he had her at his mercy.

“Yes,” she agreed immediately, thinking only of how much she wanted him.

To her dismay, he pulled out. She turned to face him, and he kissed her, sucking her lower lip until it felt swollen. She felt him fastening his trousers and figured they would go upstairs.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, giving a simple order. That is not what she had expected. He crossed his arms over his chest then leaned against the wall, giving her a look that demanded obedience.

She shrugged off her shirt and let the bra fall off her shoulders and onto the floor, still clothed from the waist down, but not committing to any real defiance.

“All of them,” he said. She pulled off her knickers and then unzipped her skirt letting it puddle into a crumpled heap around her feet. She stared at Draco wondering why she went along with it, but one look into those fierce grey eyes quieted whatever resistance had been left.

“Sit down,” he said. Hermione looked at the wooden bench behind her unwilling to sit her bare arse on the well-worn surface. A thin cushion appeared across the length of the seat, and she gave in sitting primly on the edge, back straight, knees pressing tightly together, hands in her lap. She lifted her chin, haughtily.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “That won’t do,” he said, tilting his head as if to consider what would. “Relax.”

Hermione leaned against the wall, and when she did, he loosened his tie. Hermione watched as it slithered through his collar then coiled on the floor, inanimate but mesmerizing.

“Good. Now, spread your legs,” he said. Her eyes snapped up to his, there was not a trace of jest there. She let her knees fall apart a few centimeters. “Wider,” he demanded.

Godric, she felt so exposed. But he repaid her in kind, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, then letting it fall to the floor. Her eyes hungrily consumed the lean figure before her, raking voraciously across every line and plane, including the scars on his chest, loving even the faint pink dark mark on his muscular forearm.

“Like what you see?” he smirked.

“Mmmhmm,” was all she could manage.

“Good. Touch yourself and show me how much you like it,” he said.

He wanted her to do what? He unbuckled his belt and pulled it slowly from the loops of his trousers. He dropped it, then put his hands on the button. Had he pulled his trousers back on just so he could tease her? She hadn’t moved, and he stilled, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to comply.

Fine. Hermione exhaled and closed her eyes, then reached down with her right hand and let her middle finger slide between her wet folds. Despite the awkwardness, her body reacted with eager lubrication.

“Open your eyes, love,” he said. He was completely naked now and standing fully at attention. Her heart beat faster, and she let her finger slide up and down, spreading her fluids over her clit.

“Good girl,” he said. She didn’t bristle at the condescension; it was part of the game.

She could feel her self-consciousness slipping away as her body responded to the self-stimulation and to the sight of Draco watching her with undisguised adulation. It was all the encouragement she needed. She spread her legs wider and changed her rhythm, parting her lips with two fingers and using another to trace wide circles around her clit. If he wanted a show, then she would give him one.

He responded with a guttural growl, and reached down and began to stroke his cock.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he said, gripping the base of his cock. She had been so surprised, she hadn’t even realized what she was doing, and she resumed her massage, wanting desperately to close her legs to increase the stimulation, but she didn’t dare.

Draco used his thumb to spread a pearl of fluid around the tip of his cock. He extracted more, swiveling his palm over the tip to lubricate his hand so he could mimic the wetness inside of her. Hermione watched, fascinated, her own hand now moving of its own accord.

Draco’s movements were slow, and his eyes never left her body, holding her gaze then roaming over her breasts, down her flat abdomen to the pink folds between her open legs. She began moving rhythmically, alternating the pressure as her fingers slid over her clit then away again.

“Come for me,” he said, practically fucking her with his eyes. Godric, she wanted his cock inside her. She looked at it longingly and felt her sex throb in desperation.

She closed her eyes, and let her head fall back, leaning back so she could put her weight on one arm resting behind her. She focused on the pleasure drifting toward her like a precipitous gray cloud, then released a soft, high-pitched sigh as her orgasm washed over her like a gentle spring rain. She pulled her legs together and let it pulse through her.

Draco scooped her up, pulling her legs around his waist, and impaled her with his rigid organ. She cried out with relief, and squeezed her thighs tight, holding onto him with every muscle at her disposal. He held her easily, thrusting roughly until he squeezed her tight and moaned into her ear. She gave him a moment, then slipped lightly onto the ground, allowing Draco to collapse onto the cushioned bench. She picked up her clothes and dressed while he gained his bearings.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “Holy fuck, Granger. That was…” but he only exhaled loudly, a look of wonder and appreciation lighting up his eyes.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” she said coyly.

“More. Much more,” he said standing to kiss her. Hermione watched him appreciatively, the muscles in his thighs and arse flexing as he bent to pick up his clothes.

“And now we face the music,” he said, just before he grasped her hand and vanished the curtain to find that the common room was empty except for Pansy and Dean who didn’t bother to pull away from each other as Hermione and Draco slinked past them.

***

The next morning, Hermione resolved to write a possibly overdue letter to Ron. After the article, which he had no doubt seen—Mrs. Weasley subscribed to Witch Weekly, and though it wasn’t like her to share idle gossip, it did increase the odds of Ron finding out—it felt unconscionable to remain politely silent.

The dragonhide journal hadn’t been touched since the last time she had used it that day by the Black Lake. Now, Hermione grabbed the journal and a self-inking quill and curled up on her sofa with a thick woolen blanket and a crackling fire.

Hermione took a deep breath then put her quill to the paper.

“Dear Ron,” she wondered if “dear” was an appropriate greeting, as he was, in fact, no longer dear to her the way he once was. But too late, she realized; she had already scratched the words into the page. She sighed and continued.

“By now, you must have seen Rita’s article, and if not, well, I don’t suppose it would escape your attention for much longer. But it is not just for that reason that I write. This event is only the catalyst, and I’m not too proud to admit that I should have written this long ago. At first, I wanted to give you space because I knew you were hurt and angry. And then I was mad after you sent me your letter, which, you have to admit was a bit on the rude side. But that’s beside the point. I’m not writing to criticize you. I’m writing to apologize and explain—I owe you at least as much.

“I’m just going to come right out and address Rita’s speculation about why we broke up—as if she has any authority on the matter—but I know you, and I know you must be wondering about the truth of it now. I did not break up with you because of Malfoy. He and I didn’t even speak to each other until well after you and I had broken up. And while I will admit that things did move somewhat “quickly,” it is not because he was waiting in the wings.

“We broke up because you and I aren’t right for each other. If you really think about it, you will know I’m right. It’s not because you’re not good enough or I’m not good enough; we just aren’t compatible. We argue all the time, we don’t care about the same things, and we just don’t understand each other. Yes, I loved you, love you still in the way that I will always love Harry, as someone whose friendship I’ve cherished and counted on for years.

“I know you said you’ve moved on, but it doesn’t seem like you have. I don’t know what else I can say or do, and I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever be possible for us to be friends again. Can we just put all of this behind us and start over?”

Hermione sighed. She didn’t have any hope of that actually working, and worse, she didn’t know if she wanted it to anymore. Maybe it was time to just time to completely let go and move on. She debated on the best way to close the letter and decided finally to use a simple but true, “Love from, Hermione.”

She stared at the page wondering how Ron would respond. Probably not well, but at least she had made an effort. This time, Hermione wasn’t surprised when the page tore itself from the book and began to fold itself over in a complicated pattern. When it was complete, it had formed, not a dragon, but a small scaly egg the size of a snitch. How curious. She held the paper egg in her palm and wondered what she was supposed to do with it. The fire crackled quietly just beyond her line of sight.

Hermione thought of Norbert, the dragon Hagrid had hatched in their first year, and Hermione suddenly knew what to do. She threw the blanket off her and walked toward the fireplace, egg cradled in her hand. She looked at it one more time, then tossed it into the flames and watched it catch fire and disintegrate into sparkling ashes that drifted up and out of sight.

She supposed it was better this way. Maybe she would try again later now that she had expressed the old feelings she had been holding onto and could afford to be more compassionate. It shouldn’t be this hard—she didn’t regret her decision, she didn’t have any lingering feelings for Ron, and she was blissfully happy with Malfoy. So, why was she still struggling with this?

Because, a little voice told her, she still cared about Ron enough to feel bad that he had been hurt by all of this. She wondered how much responsibility she could take for his feelings. Surely it was incumbent upon her to try to mitigate the damage she had done; however, it was neither reasonable nor possible to change his feelings about it. She sighed. It didn’t help matters that she felt guilty for even thinking about Ron while she was with Draco—she supposed it was one of the consequences of moving on so quickly before coming to terms with the last relationship.

“Em?” Draco said. She was staring at the fire, and she hadn’t heard him come in.

“Hmm?” she murmured, turning to face him.

He stopped a few centimeters from her, frowned, then brushed her cheek with his thumb. “What’s the matter, love?”

Hermione hadn’t noticed the tears leaking from her eyes. It seemed inevitable that one day, they would either continue to flow in an endless parade of emotion or else dry up completely preventing her from ever shedding another tear in her life.

“It’s…” she was going to say “nothing,” but it wasn’t nothing, and she wanted to make an effort to let him in. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, feeling his arms close around her. “Dray, I don’t know what to do about this whole Ron business.”

“What about it, love?” he said, his cheek resting on the top of her head. She didn’t detect even a little bit of anger or jealousy in his tone, and she felt encouraged to continue.

“It’s just that—are you sure you want to talk about this?” she was still fighting the urge to solve it herself, to spare him from the potential pain or damage of her chaotic thoughts.

“Em, what kind of relationship would we have if we couldn’t be vulnerable and honest with each other? Not a very trusting one. Do you trust me?” he said, reasonably.

“Of course,” she agreed. “You’re right, of course.”

“I usually am,” he said and she laughed, relaxing into his arms and the conversation.

“So, I just feel like I—I don’t know—owe him an explanation. Just because he was my best friend and I need to find a way forward. I did have that dream where you and I were at dinner with Harry and Ginny and also Ron and...I didn’t mention it before, because I didn’t think it was important, and you have to promise me not to say anything because it was just a dream…”

“I promise,” he said.

“Ron and Pansy,” she said.

Draco’s laughter rumbled in his chest.

“It was just a dream,” she said, feeling stung by his reaction.

He pulled back and looked at her, then said, “I’m sorry, Em, I wasn’t laughing at you. But the thought of Parkinson with Weasley is a bit outrageous. Even you can’t deny that.”

She put her cheek against his chest again, and he stroked her hair.

“Well, yes, I did think it unlikely, but they seemed so...happy. I don’t know, it was just a dream. But the point is: it was really nice to be sitting there with everyone as friends. Harry and Ginny are still my friends, and that means Ron will always be around in some way or another. I would prefer for it not to be awkward, or worse, tense and combative. I don’t want a repeat of that episode in Hogsmeade,” she said.

“That seems reasonable enough,” he replied. “I can’t say that I will ever be able to consider him a friend, but for your sake, I am willing to try to be...civil.”

“Dray, I know you will and thank you, but it’s not just about you,” she was struggling to find a way to explain something she didn’t even fully understand. “I just feel like...like I can’t be at peace with...all of this...unless I make sure he knows the truth. I caused him enough pain without adding Rita’s lies to it. What kind of friend would I be if I couldn’t at least free him from that hell?”

They were quiet for a moment. She thought of the haunted look on Ron’s face. For all their disagreements, Ron had loved her, and a part of her had loved him too, for a moment, as more than just a friend. She might have changed her mind about her feelings for Ron, but it couldn’t change their past. It was cruel for her to have just disappeared the way she had.

Hermione spoke again, “Dray, I hope you understand that it doesn’t mean that I want to be with him or that I regret us or—”

“Em,” he interrupted, “stop. I know you are mine, that you have given yourself to me in every way. I love you for it, and I don’t waste any energy imagining that whatever feelings you had, or still have, for Ron are any kind of threat to us.”

She looked up at him with what she could only think of as awe. “Draco Malfoy, when did you become so wise?”

“Have you only just noticed?” he jested. “Em, it comes down to this: my greatest fear is losing you, but I know now that you will never walk away from me.”

“How can you know that?” she said, feeling suddenly unsure of herself. She knew she was prideful and prone to temper tantrums, during which she often said or did things that sometimes shouldn’t be said or done.

Draco put a hand on her cheek. “You know the worst about me, and you love me anyway. I don’t plan to tempt you to leave by doing something stupid to drive you away, so why should I worry?” He kissed her other cheek, then said into her ear, “I also know that Ronald Weasley could never measure up to me.”

“Mmm,” she said, sliding her hand up his torso, “I hate it when you’re right.” She couldn’t find it in herself to even pretend to be angry about his comment because, for her, it was true, and right now, that’s the only thing that mattered. Hermione grasped a handful of Draco’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss full of passion so intense it melted away every last bit of resistance she had to letting him in.


	10. February 1999

January had dragged on for months, or so, at least, it seemed. Hermione had tried to focus on her studies to distract herself from the barrage of owls that had started bringing in everything from fervent letters of admiration to hexed hate mail full of insults, threats, and, occasionally, shriveled objects Draco was careful not to touch.

The owls had started arriving two days after Hermione had first read the article in January. That first morning, when Hermione and Draco sat in front of a small mound of mail on the Gryffindor table at breakfast, McGonagall had come by to inquire as to the nature of it, suspecting, no doubt, something very close to the truth of it. After that, she had put a filtering system in place, where all their mail would be inspected for dangerous substances and curses—and, indeed, a few had been discovered through the process.

This redirection had ended, finally, by early February, when the flood slowed down to a slow drip and those who were impassioned enough to send a curse had already done so, their interest quickly diverted to the next wizarding scandal.

Draco had taken it in stride, and Hermione, finally realizing that none of it actually affected their lives in any tangible way—at least not right now—had let it go. It was at the end of this first week of February, that Hermione had been relieved to find only two owls visited them—one carrying her Daily Prophet and the other a letter sealed with the Malfoy family crest, both of which she’d brought back to her room to read in front of a warm fire.

It was Saturday, so Hermione pulled on something comfortable and curled up on the sofa with a blanket and a cup of tea. Ginny had invited Draco to help her execute an idea she’d had for the Gryffindor quidditch team practice, and Draco had been thrilled at the chance to get on a broom again and play quidditch, though he accepted the invitation with his usual stoic grace. Hermione smiled at the thought of it.

She shook open the Daily Prophet and was surprised to see Ron’s face on the front page. “Auror Weasley Discovers Death Eater, Rookwood, Believed to Be in Pursuit of Our Very Own Princess of Peace.” Hermione groaned. At least they had abandoned the Siren moniker, but this was just an annoying renewal of the hero-worship she was hoping would die down when she returned to Hogwarts and stepped out of the public eye.

Hermione skimmed the article. It mentioned an anonymous tip that Hermione knew must have been Pansy’s information to Ron. It seemed it had, indeed, lead to the capture of Rookwood—she supposed Pansy didn’t want public credit lest she became a target. The thought niggled something in the back of her mind.

Hermione looked at the picture once more before folding the paper. It was a flattering picture of Ron, actually. Even in the black and white photo, she could see the muscles in Ron’s arms flexing as he guided and steadied Rookwood who kept trying to pull away and make a run for it, even though his arms were magically bound behind his back. For so long, Hermione had thought Harry and Ron as a couple of boys play-acting as actual Ministry officials. Her view of Harry had evolved as she had continued spending time with him, but only now, seeing Ron so serious and capable, did she begin to shift her perception of him from lackadaisical student to competent adult. This was everything he had wanted for himself, and for all their disagreements, Hermione felt genuinely happy for him.

Hermione thought about this and then of what she’d seen in Draco’s dream—the anguished look on Ron’s face, the desperation in his cries for her, and whatever else he had felt as he listened helplessly to her screaming while Bellatrix tortured her. She thought about the tenderness they’d shared at the end of the war, the relief that it was all over, the hope that they could live a normal life. But that hadn’t worked out the way they had thought it would.

Now that they weren’t at each other’s throats daily, Hermione could be more objective, more sympathetic to Ron’s side of things. If she were completely honest with herself, she could admit that she had thoroughly broken Ron’s heart. She’d put only a little effort into extending the proverbial olive branch, blaming him entirely for using it as kindling in a bonfire to torch what little regard was left between them. She felt a deep shame for having treated him so callously. He may not have acted innocently in all of this, but neither had she.

It was time to write him a real letter. Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill—preferring it, this time, over the unpredictable dragonhide journal—and began writing.

“Ron,” she decided to keep the greeting genuine and straightforward.

“Congratulations on your capture of Rookwood. It’s a real accomplishment, and you must be so proud. I think it’s wonderful that you and Harry are out there doing what you’ve always wanted to do, and not just doing it, but succeeding.”

“I know things have been awkward between us. I take full responsibility for my part in it. I should have been more open with you from the start about...all of this. I do hope you know that I never kept secrets from you while we were together; please don’t think that whatever choices I made afterward affected my actions with you in any way.”

“In my anger, I’ve been unfair to you and very unsympathetic. I hope you can forgive me. I know we’ve been through hell and back, and through it all, we loved each other. Truly. I don’t want to diminish that...or you. I have closed that chapter of my life, but I hope you and I can move on in a different way, a better, more healthy way. I promise to make more of an effort. I won’t ask you to condone my relationship with Malfoy. I’m sorry, I hate to even bring it up, but I can’t pretend that we aren’t both very aware of it. I only hope that it can stop being a barrier to us figuring out a new way to show up in each other’s lives...should you be interested in any continuation. I will respect your wishes on this matter once and for all.”

“For all our incompatibility, I want you to know that I do see your good qualities. I’ve said some hurtful things, but I don’t believe you are a terrible person. We were friends—and then lovers—for a reason, after all. I made a choice about us, but it wasn’t a judgment against you, though it is easy to feel that way...even for me, but I’ve let it go.”

“I don’t know where this leaves us, Ron. I don’t want to force you into anything; that’s not the intent of this letter. I only wanted to tell you that I’m sorry and that I’m happy that your life seems to be living up to your dreams. I wish you all the happiness you deserve.”

“With love, Hermione.”

She set down the quill and read over the letter. She would take this to the owlery shortly and send it right away before she lost her nerve. She wondered if she should let Draco read it first. She felt the awkwardness of their overlap more than ever, though they did not actually overlap in time or space, only in her heart. She decided that it would be enough to tell Draco about the letter—he trusted her enough not to demand full-disclosure of this or any other communication or interaction. She knew she would never do anything to betray that trust and felt at peace with her decision.

Finally, Hermione opened the letter she had received, which turned out to be from Narcissa, as Hermione had suspected.

“Hermione,”

“Given our chat during the holiday, I felt it most appropriate to address this letter to you directly. I hope to inform you of recent events as well as to help you begin to understand the ways of the Malfoy Matriarch.”

Hermione felt a heat beneath her skin at the implication; she was still astonished by Narcissa’s view of its inevitability, and even more astounded by the almost friendly way Narcissa addressed her. She read on.

“Allow me to begin by complimenting your ideals as expressed in the letter that was published without your permission. Despite the unfounded accusations, the words themselves do you, and us, great credit. I know you must be worried about how Draco will fare in this ordeal, but I want you to know that I have observed the beginnings of a slight shift in public opinion. It is not obvious to any but the most perceptive, and I pride myself on my keen observational skills—a skill you would be wise to hone. Don’t worry yourself about the detractors, we will address those foolish enough to stand against him in our own way, and here I count on you, for you have much more influence than you realize.”

“As for the primary reason for this letter, I thought you might like to know that a certain animagus has been, shall we say, persuaded, to write nothing at all about you or Draco unless it is at our request. Rest assured, reparations will be made and future damage prevented.”

“Draco has given me to understand that you prefer to solve your problems on your own. It is folly to assume you must do everything yourself; that is not always the way of these things. Sometimes you can accomplish much more through the use of your connections. And so I have done in this case.”

“Be well and take care of my Draco, Narcissa Malfoy.”

Hermione sat in silence for a few moments as she processed all of this. She didn’t know what Narcissa had said or done to Rita, but she didn’t want to know. She trusted that Narcissa was wise enough not to have done anything illegal—the woman didn’t strike her as the type to put her family at unnecessary risk.

Hermione penned a polite but genuine note of thanks to Narcissa and then decided to walk to the owlery.

Pansy was just walking out of her door as Hermione passed. Even on a cool morning like this, Pansy wore a short A-line skirt, knee-high stockings, and tiny cotton tee that revealed a few inches of Pansy’s bared midriff and most of her cleavage. It looked as if Pansy had cut the neckline herself; whatever, it was working for her.

“How are you not freezing in that outfit?” Hermione said, laughing a bit.

“Magic, doll,” Pansy said.

“Right,” Hermione said. It had never occurred to her to use magic in such a way; probably because she was much more practical about her clothing. Too practical, really.

“Where’s Draco?” Pansy’s eyes scanned the space behind Hermione as if expecting him to appear.

“On the quidditch pitch. I was just thinking of heading there myself after a quick stop at the owlery,” Hermione explained as they began walking.

“I was also going to the owlery. Mind if I walk with you?” Pansy said.

“Of course not,” Hermione replied.

The castle was alive with activity. From their common room all the way through the Entrance Hall, students were milling about, chatting, studying, laughing, and walking out of the large front doors. Despite the dreary weather, there was a cheeriness Hermione hadn’t felt in, well, years.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” said Pansy, remarking on it as if Hermione had spoken aloud.

“Yes, it’s almost…” said Hermione unsure of the best way to express the feeling.

“Like the old days? Before the war?” Pansy supplied.

“Yes, actually,” said Hermione as they walked up a staircase heading in the direction of the West Tower.

“It’s partly thanks to you,” said Pansy.

“What? No,” said Hermione. “No, it’s just that people are realizing the war is really over and McGonagall has forced everyone to be more inclusive and, I don’t know, it’s easy to forget about everything else while we are here at school.”

“Yes, those things are all true,” Pansy said. “It’s also true that your actions and your words are...well, they are making a difference. That’s all.”

Hermione couldn’t argue with Pansy’s perception of things, even if Hermione didn’t agree about how much credit she deserved for any of it. It was a generous compliment, at any rate, and Hermione appreciated it, especially coming from Pansy.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I certainly hope to have a positive impact, whatever that ends up looking like.” She shrugged.

“Who knew that beneath that swotty exterior was a heart of humility?” Pansy said laughing, and Hermione joined in. She supposed she could be a bit of a know-it-all, but that was book stuff. It was easy to be confident in facts and figures, it was much less easy to be sure of one’s own choices and actions.

Pansy threaded her arm through Hermione’s, and they chatted like two carefree schoolgirls all the way to the owlery.

“Hermione,” Pansy said as they descended the stairs from the Owlery a short while later. An owl hooted and another could be heard stretching its wings and flapping vigorously. Pansy seemed to be contemplating her next words. “I noticed you sent a letter to Ron.”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “It was long overdue.” She sighed.

“Things ended badly between you two?” Pansy tilted her head, curious. They reached the bottom of the stairs and began walking down the corridor.

“You could say that,” said Hermione.

“Do you think he believes what Rita said about Draco being the reason?” Pansy asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” Hermione said.

“But, of course, we know it’s not true at all,” Pansy said.

“Do you?” said Hermione, stopping in the empty corridor and looking at Pansy.

“Of course,” Pansy smiled. “For one, Draco spent most of his summer at Hogwarts, and two, he told me about...oh, shit, I wasn't supposed to say anything.”

“You might as well tell me now,” said Hermione.

“He told me about running into you in Diagon Alley."

"Did he?" Hermione supposed it was natural. After all, she had told Ginny about it.

Pansy shrugged, "I might have loosened his tongue with a couple shots of Firewhisky. It shocked the hell out of him if you want to know the truth, and I think he wanted to make sure he didn't imagine your...interest.”

This piqued Hermione's curiosity. She hadn’t been able to understand her reaction at the time and was curious about Draco’s perspective. She wondered if Pansy’s advice had encouraged Draco’s boldness on the train or if it was only the sight of the ring.

“What did you tell him?” Hermione said, trying to sound casual.

Pansy smiled, “You know,” Pansy said. But Hermione did not know and gave Pansy a questioning look. Pansy continued, “I told him it was obvious you fancied him.”

“Obvious?” Hermione was surprised. She started walking again, not wanting Pansy to see the blush creeping up her chest. “How so?”

“Besides the obvious ineffectiveness of his wards,” Pansy stopped in front of Hermione, facing her. “You let him get close.”

Pansy stepped close to Hermione, and Hermione resisted the urge to step back. Pansy radiated lively energy that Hermione found a bit overwhelming. It was nothing like Draco’s calm presence, so controlled and unwavering.

“It’s a subtle dance, the energy between two people," Pansy continued. "If you pay attention, you can feel the push or the pull. Do you feel it, Granger?” Pansy said, using the name Draco reserved for teasing or scolding her; it felt like something much different coming from Pansy’s mouth. It could have been the way her voice lowered slightly or the look Pansy was giving her. There was that intensity again.

Hermione nodded, answering Pansy’s question. Now that Pansy had pointed it out, she could most certainly feel Pansy pulling her in and wondered what Pansy would make of the odd push and pull she was feeling.

“But even without that, there are physical signs, surely you must know. All I had to do was list a few, and he confirmed. Not out loud, of course.” Pansy’s lips curved into a coy smile, her green eyes bore into Hermione’s.

“For example, if I touched you,” Pansy traced a finger just above the neckline of Hermione’s wide-neck jumper, and Hermione felt her body react with both a curious tingling and a slight tensing at the unexpectedness of the touch. Hermione's skin pebbled in a way that would surely be visible through the fabric stretching across her breasts even as she shrugged away from the finger dipping slowly beneath her collar toward her breasts just as Draco had done, “then you would have a reaction I could easily decipher.”

Pansy took one step back, lifting her chin and erasing all signs of the seductive look she had worn only moments before—an illustration of her ability to translate the interaction Draco must have described. Hermione took a deep breath, and Pansy laughed.

“Relax, doll,” Pansy said. “I was only making a point.” Pansy winked.

“Well,” Hermione said, “it was effective.”

“Did you feel the pull with Ron?” Pansy said as they began walking again, wending their way through corridors and staircases without much thought.

Hermione hadn’t expected that question. She thought about the last time Ron had touched her that way, and she remembered how she had recoiled. Ron had been too blinded by his own desire to notice the absence of hers. Even now she felt bad for the change of heart that had led to the breaking of his.

“No, I thought I did at first, but it wasn’t really there, only a sort of... comfortableness that can develop between friends. As it turns out, it wasn't sexual, though we, erm, did try...” she admitted.

“So…you’re just friends?” Pansy said.

“Well, I’m trying to be, but I don’t think he wants anything to do with me…because of…” she had been about to say Draco, but she knew it wasn’t only him; in fact, it was mostly about her and the two of them. “The truth is we never really responded well to each other. We push each other the wrong way. I don’t know. He has a big heart, and he’s brave and a lot of good things, but he…well, I think he needs a witch who can stroke his…” Pansy’s eyes widened a bit, light dancing in them with anticipation, “…his ego.” Pansy rolled her eyes in exaggerated disappointment.

“I see. Well, I’d love to stay, but I have to be somewhere else,” said Pansy, kissing Hermione on the cheek, then flipping her hair as she turned to walk in the other direction. Hermione’s head was spinning and she wondered if there was anyone who could handle Pansy Parkinson. Doubtful. Hermione laughed to herself, glad, at least, to be on Pansy’s good side.

By the time Hermione reached the Entrance Hall, a wave of sleepiness washed over her, and instead of heading outside the massive front doors, she turned toward the smaller door in the back of the Entrance Hall and headed to her room. Her legs carried her automatically all the way to her bedside, where she stripped down to her undergarments and slid beneath the covers, delighting in the weight of the down comforter cocooning her between on the soft mattress. She drifted to sleep quickly.

***

Had she fallen asleep? She could see light behind her eyes and knew it couldn’t have been more than a short nap.

“I was just getting ready to wake you,” Draco said to her, just as her eyes fluttered open.

“Mmm, were you?” she said, yawning. “Tell me, what did you have planned?” She turned toward him and could see that he wore nothing but his boxer briefs. “Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say? Granger, I’m hurt,” he said, pulling back the covers and climbing in bed next to her.

“Come off it, Malfoy,” she said. “If you want more, you’re going to ditch the clothes—all of them.”

Draco laughed. Then, he pulled her close and kissed her.

“Maybe,” he said, between kisses, “I like it better when you undress me.”

“Of course, you do, my lord,” she said, teasing him.

“That’s better,” he said, unclasping her bra and pulling it off. “Now,” he said, pushing her knickers down around her thighs; she worked them down her legs and kicked them off. “What shall I do with you?”

She kissed him and pulled his hand between her legs.

“Maybe you can help me wake up?”

Draco slid his fingers between her slick folds. “Having good dreams, were we?” he said.

Hermione couldn’t remember having any dreams at all.

“I wanted to watch you practice and then maybe pull you under the stands for a quick shag, but then I felt tired. I’m sorry,” she said, lazily. Her body was rousing under his touch.

“Fuck, Em,” he said, pushing his fingers inside her. She moaned her approval and let her legs fall open a little wider.

“That was the idea,” she said, her voice rising in pitch again as his fingers plunged into her again, while this time, his thumb pressed into her clit.

“You do know that now I won’t be satisfied until that happens. Lucky for you, Ginny has asked me to come back on Tuesday afternoon,” he said to her as if he wasn’t driving her out of her mind with just his hand.

“Did she?” Hermione breathed. His hands move expertly inside her. “And what will you do...oh!...if I show up...on...on the Quidditch Pitch?” She could hardly get the words out between breaths.

He removed his hand and she let a small whine escape her lips. Her empty quim throbbed in protest.

“I’ll give you a ride you won’t soon forget,” he told her, but he was holding out. She wanted to hear him say exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“I want you to take me into the Slytherin changing room,” she prompted.

“Sweet Salazar, yes,” he said, “I want to pull off your knickers, then sit you on the bench and watch you suck me off while touching yourself.”

His hand slid back between her legs, and she moaned in sweet relief. He was touching her lightly, slowly, not wanting this to end too quickly.

“Mmm,” she replied. “I’ll wrap my lips around that beautiful cock and let you fuck my hot, wet, mouth,” she said. He stuck two fingers inside her and began pumping slowly.

“But you’ll stop before I come,” he said, voice low and raspy. “I want to bend you over the bench and look at that firm arse while I drive my dick into your hot cunt.” It was the first time she had heard him say anything like that and she felt her excitement ratchet up a few notches. She shivered as he continued driving his fingers into her, but suddenly it wasn’t enough.

“Show me,” she said. “Right now.” She pushed his hand away and climbed out of bed. Once Draco was behind her, she leaned over the bed and spread her legs. He grasped her hips as she looked over her shoulder at him. “Like this?” she said as innocently as she could manage.

“Fuck, yes,” he said, and then he slammed into her; it felt so good. She moaned loudly, loving the feeling of him sliding in and out of her. His movements became faster, rougher. He was losing control, and she loved it.

“Is this…” she panted, “...how you want to finish?” She didn’t even care that she hadn’t orgasmed yet. This was...it was delicious. She squeezed her muscles around him.

“No,” he said, pulling out. “I want to sit on the bench,” he said sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her onto his lap. She sank onto his cock easily. “I want to see those perky tits bouncing while you ride me.” She braced herself, resting her hands on his shoulders and began moving up and down in small movements, finding a rhythm that allowed her a greater range of motion.

“Is this what you want?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. He watched her, his pale grey eyes liquid quicksilver. She knew he would succumb soon. She began grinding against him.

“Like that, yes,” he said, wrapping his arm around her back and grasping a handful of curls with the other hand. He pulled her hair back, and she lifted her chin, exposing her neck to his hungry mouth. “I want you to cum for me. Now,” he commanded, planting kisses along her neck and her jaw.

“Oh, Draco!” she cried, feeling the tension mount to unbearable climax. He nipped at her neck, and the coil released, her whole body shaking with the force of it. And then he was crushing her against his chest, his hips lifting in jerky movements as he moaned into her shoulder. For a minute, they just sat there like that, arms wrapped around each other as the shaking slowly subsided, and the last of the aftershocks came and went.

***

They left the dinner table before anyone else, which meant that when they had reached the common room, it was empty. Instead of heading to their rooms, they walked to one of the small loveseats near the fireplace and made themselves comfortable. Hermione tucked herself against Draco, curling up in the crook of his outstretched arm, and rested her head against him.

For a couple minutes, they listened to the sounds of the rain tapping against the window, the thunder rumbling, and the fire crackling undisturbed by the water just beyond the glass. Hermione felt safe within these walls, shielded from the outside world. Her thoughts turned toward the letters that were still trickling in, even a month later. She had grown somewhat desensitized to them at this point, thank Godric.

“Ooh, I forgot to tell you, I read a good one today,” she said, laughing as she remembered the latest one. She tried to remember the exact wording, which had been so absurd she hadn’t even been angry when she’d read it.

“Do tell,” Draco said.

“You’ll like this. Apparently, what was it? Just because I think I think I'm good enough to defeat the Dark Lord doesn’t mean I’m good enough to muddy the lines of one of the sacred twenty-eight’s finest. Can you believe that?”

“That I am a prize among purebloods? Yes. That people are still buying into that bullshit? No,” he said. She suspected he was trying to make light of it, but she could hear the edge in his voice. “You burned it?”

“Yes,” she said thinking of how satisfying it had felt to see it go up in flames. She watched the fire for a moment, thinking about how many letters she’d burnt. How many more had she been spared from seeing thanks to McGonagall?

“Love?” Draco said, recalling her to the moment.

“Hmm?” she replied.

“You know I would consider myself lucky to have you carry on the Malfoy line,” he said.

They hadn’t yet talked about marriage, let alone children, the unspoken understanding of its inevitability enough to silence any awkward conversations about their future. Though, it suddenly seemed silly that after everything they'd shared, conversations about their future together should be uncomfortable. Maybe it was only because she didn't want to presume to have any more time than what she had right now. After all the loss and unpredictability of the last year, Hermione understood that the future is not promised, and things rarely work out the way one thinks they will. She realized that a part of her was afraid of putting too much hope into something that might never happen.

"Em?" he said. "I didn't mean to make assumptions, I only wanted—" he started.

"No, Dray, it's not that," she said, and she felt him relax. "I do know and I would love..." but that's not what she wanted to tell him. "It's just that, I can't put my happiness in a tomorrow that might never come."

"Em, that's a bleak outlook," he said, "I understand it, and there's some wisdom in there somewhere. But, love, why would you rob yourself of joy? It's worth the risk of greater disappointment."

Hermione listened to this, processing her own feelings for the first time as he was speaking.

"I still feel joy in the moment. I don't need the hope of future happiness to make life worthwhile. The happiness I have right now is enough."

"Is it? And what about when the present moment holds no joy? What about the moments when you are forced to watch those you love suffer?" he said, rubbing his thumb over the scar on her forearm.

"I..." but she didn't know how to respond to that. It was a good point, one she hadn't considered if she were honest with herself.

"Love, a pinpoint of hope, a fantasy even, can carry a person through dark times." Draco sighed heavily, then said, "You, Em. A dream of you was the only light I had..." his voice trailed off, but she didn't need him to finish the sentence. She understood.

"There is one more thing," Hermione said. Draco looked down at her, curious to see where she was going with this. "We have each other."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Hope and you,” he amended. “What more could a man need?"

"I can't think of a single thing more," Hermione teased.

"Can't you?" he said, running his hand up her thigh.

Dean, Pansy, and Blaise entered the common room and were making their way toward one of the empty sofas nearby. Draco returned his hand to her knee.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” she said changing the subject to something lighter, “I overheard a couple of the Gryffindor quidditch team players talking about some amazing move you taught them today. Sounds like Ginny’s idea was a success.”

“I hate to say it, but the Gryffindor team has a real shot at the Quidditch Cup this year,” Draco said.

“There’s no way they aren’t going to win!” said Dean, joining in the conversation.

A few others entered the common room.

“Oh, come on,” said Blaise, “Slytherin only needs to beat Hufflepuff to gain the lead.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” said Hannah, as she and Neville sat next to each other on the sofa opposite. They looked cozy. Hermione hadn’t ever noticed it before, but now that she looked at them, she thought that maybe there was something between them.

“It might happen since Ginny recruited Draco to give up the Slytherin team’s trade secrets,” said Dean.

“Is it true, Draco?” Neville asked, a look of disbelief distorting his features.

“Is what true?” Draco said. Hermione wondered what he’d been thinking about.

“Ginny is using you as her secret weapon?” said Neville.

Draco laughed. “I did agree to help the team, yes.”

“Traitor,” Blaise teased.

"Anything to get back on a broom. Isn't that right, Draco, darling?" Pansy said.

“The Slytherins aren't inviting me to the field," Draco said, shrugging unapologetically. "Besides, the Gryffindors don't need me to win. As much as it pains me to admit it, Ginny's skills could impress any professional coach,” Draco said.

“You mean a scout?” Dean asked.

“A what?” Draco asked.

“You know, someone who watches amateur games to spot talented players and recruit them to their team,” Dean explained.

“I’ve never heard of this practice,” said Blaise, laughing.

At the same time, Draco said, “Hmmm,” under his breath, but Hermione doubted anyone else heard it.

“Muggle sports teams do it all the time. Wizards. So archaic sometimes,” Dean said shaking his head.

Hermione felt a giggle erupt and automatically choked it down. Maybe it was time to go. She was tired and ready to have Draco to herself.

She bid everyone goodnight, smiling when Pansy made some suggestive comment. A few returned the goodbyes, but the group immediately continued the conversation comparing wizards and muggles. Hermione wasn’t listening. She just wanted to be upstairs, in bed.

They walked in comfortable silence through the common room.

“Are you really tired, love?” Draco asked as they walked upstairs.

“A bit,” she lied, feeling utter exhaustion, “but I mostly wanted to take off all these clothes and just lie in bed with you.” Not a lie. She rested her head on his shoulder and yawned.

“And then what?” Draco asked a hopeful note in his voice.

“Hmmm,” she said teasing him, “and then we sleep.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him frown. “Or…” she said as they entered his room.

"Or what?" he said.

She answered him with a kiss, letting the sleepiness melt away under the heat of his touch. Draco swept her up into his arms, and she made a delighted noise as he carried her to his bed and gently set her down. They pulled off their own clothes and climbed beneath the covers in the darkened room.

His skin was hot against hers, and she shivered when he pulled her against his chest and kissed her fiercely. Suddenly, there was an urgency to their union, and in unchoreographed synchrony, Hermione rolled onto her back and spread her legs just as Draco climbed over her and pushed inside her. He moved in long strokes, grinding against her clit as he filled her. It wasn't long before all the emotion from their earlier conversation exploded in an orgasm that rocked her to her core. Her muscles pulsed deliciously around his engorged cock and he pressed his mouth against hers as he came. She was still riding the wave of pleasure when he started to soften inside her. She sighed contentedly and released him from her grip.

"And now we sleep," he said, kissing her temple, then pulling her against his side.

Hermione felt sleep rise up in the wake of her desire. She had no more resistance, and before she could even say goodnight, she drifted away, secure in Draco’s arms.

~~~

_Somehow Ginny had convinced Hermione to attend a muggle Medieval Festival with her and Luna. It was Hermione's fault really. She had mentioned the practice in passing one day while they were talking about time travel; Hermione wasn't even sure how the conversation had led there, but whatever it had been had led them here, now._

_All of Sussex must have been at Herstmonceux Castle, or at least it seemed so as they made their way across the vast grounds. Large canvas tents were sprawled on the lush green lawn outside the castle. They passed a jousting field that would no doubt draw the crowds away from the now crowded marketplace and banquet tables once the tournament began. Lively music played from somewhere far off, while lone lute players strummed mournful melodies for smaller audiences here and there._

_Hermione sighed as the three of them began to draw appreciative looks—and much less appreciated leers—from some of the population, who most certainly had stepped right out of the fifteenth century. Hermione had drawn the line at dressing up and had worn simple muggle clothing—jeans and a loose tunic with bell sleeves. Of the three, Hermione was most certainly the least eye-catching. Ginny, however, looked like a medieval warrior, her flowing ivory chemise was cinched by her stitched brown leather bodice. An abundance of jewelry, fur trimming, golden scales draping over one hip, and ample weaponry holsters—though no actual weapons were permitted on grounds—made Ginny a fierce sight to behold. Luna had gone in a different direction, choosing a deep blue dress that gave her a "princess in exile" look. Hermione didn't think she would ever be brave enough to pull off the fitted bodice and deep v neckline of Luna's dress. The flowing skirts and long fitted sleeves—puffed in excess fabric at the shoulders—did nothing to draw eyes away from the swell of her pale breasts. The thick embroidered trim at the neckline and gold chain around her narrow waist only highlighted her assets._

_"You two look amazing," Hermione shouted over the music._

_"You should have dressed up!" Ginny said._

_"The two of you are drawing enough attention as it is," Hermione countered._

_"Coward!" Ginny shouted. Hermione made a face, which caused Ginny to throw her head back in unrestrained laughter._

_They bypassed the castle; when you had lived in one for seven years, the novelty wore off. Instead, they wandered the stalls of the marketplace, marveling over ornate swords in the blacksmith, fine jewelry, and whimsical floral hair wreaths strung with long, trailing ribbons._

_"Oooh!" Ginny squealed, grasping Hermione's arm and practically dragging her toward a bright red tent at the end of one row. "A fortune teller," she explained, her eyes wide._

_"You should go in," Luna encouraged Hermione._

_Hermione laughed at the absurdity of it. She didn't believe in divination, let alone muggles who claimed to sell futures._

_"No way," she said, shaking her head._

_"You must!" Ginny insisted._

_"No, you know I hate that stuff," Hermione protested._

_"If you go in—and promise to tell us everything when you get out—then I'll promise never to mention the way I saw Draco Malfoy leering at you just a few moments ago," Ginny said, a sly smile spreading across her face._

_"What?" Hermione said, in a very high-pitched voice she hadn't meant to use. "Where? Malfoy would never!"_

_Hermione didn't understand why she had reacted that way. She and Ron had just celebrated their third wedding anniversary. She was married to her best friend and, okay, things weren't perfect, but no marriage was. Besides, she hadn't thought of Malfoy in ages. She hadn't thought about the way his eyes lingered on hers too long or the way he had frowned when others laughed at the insults he threw at her or the way he always seemed to cross her path in even remote corners of the castle._

_"Merlin's balls, Hermione! I don't know if it was actually Malfoy, but, Godric, I have never seen you blush so hard in your life," Ginny said. "You cheeky wench!"_

_"Ginevra Weasley!" Hermione huffed, "You are—"_

_But Hermione didn't get to finish her sentence. Ginny shoved her through the flaps of the tent, and she stumbled in too far to back out unnoticed._

_"I've been waiting for you," said a raspy female voice. The air was thick with incense, and Hermione felt her head go a bit fuzzy._

_"I," she coughed, struggling to breathe through the fug, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in. I'll just be on my way now."_

_"Sit," the older woman commanded, and for some reason, Hermione sat. The woman across from her looked like a gypsy and Hermione couldn't help but look around for a crystal ball; the small table between them boasted only of a long purple tablecloth and a set of Tarot cards, the constellations sparkling—not sparkling, it must be the incense—on the back. How cliché. Hermione wondered if gypsies were even around in medieval times._

_"Our kind have always existed," the woman said. A parlour trick, Hermione scoffed. "What is your question?" the woman continued._

_Hermione decided to play along. If nothing else, it would distract Ginny from their earlier conversation. She could not have Ginny latch on to teasing about Malfoy. It was inappropriate, for one thing, and for another, it was impossible...for so very many reasons. Hermione searched her mind for a question she could safely ask; several ran through her brain like an endless ticker-tape parade. Finally, she latched on to something that had been bothering her._

_"My husband wants to have children, but I'm not sure I'm ready. I don't know if I ever will be, to be perfectly honest," Hermione heard herself saying. Godric, she might as well lie on a chaise longue and pour out her soul to the woman. Perhaps she might look up a therapist when they left, but for now... "Do you see children in my future?" she asked, careful not to supply the woman with any more information. Let her work for the money._

_"Close your eyes," the woman instructed, and Hermione, ever the good girl, did as she was told._

_"Picture your husband," the woman said. "Do you see him?"_

_"Yes," Hermione said._

_Hermione could see Ron clearly. His red hair was shorter than it had been when they were in school, he had the same lopsided grin she had always found so endearing, and she didn't know how but he had grown into some kind of rugged good looks over the last few years._

_"Now, think about your feelings for him," the woman said. That was an odd request, but why not?_

_Hermione thought of the easy comfort they had. Being best friends for years had given them an effortless companionship. But, they still bickered. No, that was too light a word for what it had evolved into. They rowed. Frequently. Hermione bristled at the thought of their last argument. But this was not what she had meant to think of, and she turned her thoughts back to more positive feelings. Ron had a big heart, he always had, and she loved him for it. She knew that he would be a loving father one day. But she didn't know if that was enough to compensate for their discord._

_"The future," the woman began speaking again, "does not unfold in a single path, but many possible ones. If you continue on your current path, you may find yourself having two children with your red-haired man. They will be the true love your union cannot supply on its own. See for yourself."_

_Hermione coughed as a puff of smoke blew into her nose. The pungent smell was nauseating, but she found herself dropping into a state of deep relaxation as the sounds around her disappeared._

_"Mummy!" said a small red-haired boy, hugging her leg._

_"Darling," Hermione said patting the child on the back. "Mummy can't walk when you do that." She laughed._

_"Hugo!" said an older girl, hair the same shade has Ginny's, "Mum said get off. Why don't you come help me bake a cake for daddy?"_

_"I wanna eat a cake!" Hugo shouted, releasing Hermione's leg._

_"Thank you, darling," Hermione said, giving the girl a hug. And when she did, Hermione felt her heart swell with more love than she had ever known in her life, even for Ron._

_"This is one possibility," the woman said, dispersing the image like a drop in a reflection pool._

_"But when?" Hermione asked, her eyes still closed. She was surprised by the note of desperation in her voice. Perhaps it had something to do with her heart, which was deflating like a used balloon, the absence of the love from before shriveling her heart in unbearable emptiness. Should she give in to Ron's pressure? She refused to have the large family he wanted, but she would concede to having one or two children. Maybe. But she wasn't ready. She wasn't convinced it was right—not the timing, not the state of their relationship, none of it._

_"It is up to you. But, if you want help to make it right, the stones can mend what must be fixed," the woman said, and Hermione opened her eyes, disappointed by the vague message. She would have gotten better advice from a fortune cookie, or from Luna, who did actually give quite good advice._

_This woman hadn't told her anything remarkable, except that her children with Ron could fill an empty space in her heart she hadn't realized was there. How would Hermione tell any of this to Ginny? She was Ron's sister, and while she was never particularly protective of him, there was a line Hermione's conscience wouldn't allow her to cross. Ginny's words flashed through Hermione's mind, and she pushed away images of Malfoy. She didn't need him there jeering at her failed marriage. Godric, had she really just thought that? Hermione opened her eyes. The tarot cards lay untouched._

_"He waits," the woman finished._

_But Hermione already knew Ron was waiting, not-so-patiently any more, for Hermione to be ready for children. Again, this was no extraordinary revelation. Hermione sighed, paid the woman, and walked out of the tent, ready to tell Ginny about her future niece and nephew._

~~~

And then she was awake. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. The still sleeping part of her brain expected to wake up next to Ron, though in this life they had never really slept together. In this life? She groaned.

"Everything alright, love?" Draco asked, voice still heavy with sleep. It was still dark outside.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Did I wake you?"

"No. Actually, I just had the strangest dream," he paused, waiting perhaps to be told to be quiet, to let her sleep, but she was interested.

"Did you?" she encouraged him to continue.

"I was married...to Astoria Greengrass. So strange. We were at some castle, there were hundreds of muggles dressed up in old-fashioned clothing. And you were there with Luna and Ginny—you wouldn't believe what they were wearing. When I saw you, and I knew you weren't mine, I was filled with sadness and regret. It was all so strange and nonsensical. What could it possibly mean?" he said.

"That perhaps the future does not unfold in a single path, but, instead, in many possible ones," she said echoing the gypsy witch's words—for she was convinced now the woman had been a witch—and wondering how it could be possible for them to have two sides of the same dream.

"If there are multiple possibilities, then perhaps," he said, trailing a finger down her arm, "you might agree to lose a bit more sleep."

"Mmm," she said, consenting as his finger teased its way up her inner thigh.

"I don't want any future without you, love," he said, growing serious even as he pushed aside her knickers and parted her gently.

"I'm here," she said. "I love you," she whispered as he pushed his finger into her and pulled down the straps of the camisole she had worn to bed. She sighed as he kissed her breast and began to make love to her like they'd been separated for years. Though, of course, they hadn't been, and if she had anything to say about it, they never would be.


	11. March 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING (no spoilers in notes). Adding a trigger warning to this chapter. Don't worry, no main character dies. If you want specifics on the trigger, you can spot it in the tags for the story (I won't spell it out here because I don't want a spoiler for those who don't want to know).

“N.E.W.T.s are only three months away,” Professor Slughorn told the class once they had settled. “For our next assignment, you will be making Veritaserum.”

No one spoke, but Hermione could feel the tension in the air. Veritaserum was a complicated potion. She, for one, was thrilled at the challenge, but a look around the room made it clear that she was one of the few. Draco smirked, and Theo remained impassive. A few tables away, a couple of Gryffindors were staring at each other with matching looks of open-mouthed horror. In the back, one Slytherin was scanning the room, no doubt looking for a suitable partner to carry them through the assignment.

“Who can tell me,” Professor Slughorn continued, “how long it takes for Veritaserum to mature?”

Draco let out a small laugh that came out in a burst of air. Hermione wanted to raise her hand and answer, but instead, she elbowed Draco, wanting him, for once, so show off his extensive knowledge of potions. He was forever flying under the radar, trying not to attract too much unnecessary attention, but Hermione wanted him to demand the respect he deserved. He studied every bit as hard as she did. And the complete truth was that he had a natural talent for potions, which gave him an edge over her.

“What?” he hissed, under his breath.

“Raise your hand,” she said through her teeth.

“No,” he said, staring at Slughorn as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Did he really think he could just ignore her? She smiled, grasped her wand under the desk, and muttered a spell under her breath. Draco’s hand shot into the air, and he turned and glared at her.

“Anyone?” Slughorn said, pointedly ignoring Draco’s hand.

“Granger, you will pay for this,” Draco bit, hand still raised high.

“Professor,” Hermione said sweetly, “I think Draco can tell you.”

Slughorn reluctantly turned to Draco, “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco’s jerked his hand out of the air the moment Hermione released her spell.

“It takes one month. A full lunar cycle,” Draco said, in a very composed voice, as if he had wanted to answer all along.

“That’s right,” Professor Slughorn said, grudgingly.

Well, it was an improvement. Earlier in the year, Slughorn had pretended Draco was entirely invisible, refusing to compliment or even comment on Draco’s work even when he produced the best potion in class. It infuriated Hermione, and she had half a mind to tell him off, but she knew it wouldn’t have done much to sway Slughorn and Draco would have resented her for it, so she let it go.

“Those of you in Herbology have been growing some of the ingredients. I hope you’ve brought them with you today,” Slughorn said.

Many heads were nodding, and Slughorn continued.

“It is a very complicated potion,” Slughorn said, “So you will work in groups of four. Please form your groups and begin immediately.”

Theo turned around. “We need a fourth,” he told Draco and Hermione. Hermione looked around the room.

“Neville,” Draco said over the head of two Slytherin Seventh Years, “join us?”

Neville shrugged and accepted, moving into the seat next to Theo. Hermione couldn’t help but smile. That Draco had won over Neville was quite a feat, and it filled her with hope that others would forgive and forget. Or, if not forget, then perhaps allow Draco to make amends and move on with a clean slate.

The four of them looked over the instructions and divided the work amongst themselves. Hermione worked with Theo since Draco wasn’t speaking to her. They began by creating a schedule to maintain the brewing of the potion while Draco and Neville had an impassioned debate about whether it was better to pluck the individual petals of the _humulus lupulus_ strobiles or add them whole.

By the end of the period, they had finished the initial steps and made a schedule to determine who would check in and keep the potion brewing between now and the next class. Despite their argument, Draco and Hermione would work together for the first shift in a few days leaving Neville and Theo with the following shift.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said to Draco once the others had left. She was putting the last of her books back into her bag, while Draco waited patiently by their table.

“For what?” he said. Hermione let out a huff and narrowed her eyes; he wasn’t going to let her off so easily and she wanted to pre-empt any retaliation with a swift apology. Slughorn hurried out of the class with a sideways glance at them, leaving them alone.

“For using magic to force your hand,” she said, then added quickly, “it’s just that I hate—”

“Stop,” Draco said. “I understand why you did it. I still don’t like it. Please,” his voice softened, “don’t do that again.”

She looked at her feet, ashamed that she had coerced him into something he hadn’t wanted to do, even if it had seemed harmless at the time.

“Love?” Draco said stepping closer and lifting her chin. Her eyes dragged up the length of his lean frame and settled on the soft curving mouth, slightly parted, as if he had something more to say. One look into his eyes drove all words from her head, and suddenly only one response made sense.

She let her bag fall to the floor and flung her arms around him, pressing a desperate plea for forgiveness against his lips and pulling absolution from his willing mouth. She gripped her wand and locked the door, then pushed him backward until his back was up against an empty table.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, leaving it for him to work out whether it was for the clumsy movement or for her earlier offense. Both, she supposed. Draco’s hands were pushing up her skirt, searching for the lacy edge of her knickers, then pushing them down around her thighs. They fell the rest of the way down, and she stepped out of them, kicking off her shoes while she did. The knee-high stockings could stay.

Draco lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the table, spreading her legs and standing between them.

“Are you?” he asked. Draco pulled off her cardigan and ripped her shirt open, pushing it from her shoulders and running his hands down her arms until the garment was off. She leaned back, pressing her palms into the table.

“Yes, of course, I am,” she said. Draco's hands ran up her thighs, and she let her head fall back, feeling his mouth press against the hollow of her neck. He pulled her bra straps down, then lifted her breasts out of the delicate lace cups clinging to her. He kissed a path to her right breast, running his tongue around her areola and flicking his tongue over her nipple. Her body thrummed with pleasure, and she could feel her excitement leaking out of her.

“Tell me you won’t do it again,” he said, voice muffled slightly by her breast. He slid one hand up her thigh, thumb caressing the sensitive skin between her legs.

“I won’t,” she breathed, as he parted her.

“Promise?” he said. She felt his tongue flick over her nipple just as his thumb brushed over her clit and she felt her body begin to hum with anticipation.

“I promise,” she breathed.

“Good,” he told her. Then he kissed her mouth and removed his hand from her skirt. “See you upstairs.”

He smirked, picked up his bag, and walked out, leaving her partially undressed and utterly dissatisfied. For a moment, she just sat there in shock. Not unlike what he must have felt, she reminded herself. Still, she felt the tension transmute into anger as she slid off the desk and re-dressed. By the time she walked out of the empty classroom, she had worked herself up into a right state of anger. How dare he leave her like that? That...that...but she couldn’t even come up with a word to adequately describe her feelings at the moment, her mind was occupied with the question of which hex would be most suitable.

She walked calmly but determinedly through the castle. People moved out of her way as if they could feel her anger radiating like a fire. If anyone had spoken to her, she didn’t hear it over the blood pounding in her ears.

When she opened the door to Draco's room, he was sitting on the couch reading. Reading! As if he hadn’t just left her high as a kite and then let go of the string, leaving her to spiral to the ground with a painful crash.

She let her bag drop to the ground, then whipped her wand, and the book flew out of his hands. She locked eyes with him but managed to follow the airborne object with her peripheral vision in case it accidentally landed in the fireplace. It didn’t, and she turned her full attention to the self-righteous blonde in front of her. He was smirking again. He didn’t avert his gaze.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” she said, standing a few meters away, feet hip-width apart, wand held aloft as if she were preparing for a duel.

“Not particularly,” he said, casually throwing an arm across the back of the sofa.

Her eyes swept over his forearm, sleeve rolled up just beneath his elbow, faint dark mark taunting her. She could feel the unspent desire simmering just beneath the anger and mentally cursed him.

“I should…” she said, “You…” but she couldn’t find the right words.

“I think we’re even, then,” he said, raising a brow.

“Not by half,” she growled.

She dropped her wand and pounced, toppling him from his regal position and pinning him to the cushions between her legs, palms pressed firmly into his shoulders. He wasn’t smirking anymore. His grey eyes burned into hers, and she already felt herself melting to his will, the beautiful bastard.

“What are you going to do, Granger?” he taunted. “Teach me a lesson?” He didn’t lift his arms to touch her.

“Fuck you,” she said, angry that he wouldn’t give her the fight she wanted.

“With pleasure.”

“You arrogant—” she started.

He sat up and pulled her into a kiss before she knew what happened. Her body responded first, opening her mouth for his tongue. But then her mind reminded her that she was upset with him, and she pushed hard against his chest and stood up. She felt a throb of protest between her legs, but ignored it and turned away from him.

He caught her wrist and stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said in a smooth voice.

She yanked her arm free and stormed toward the bookshelf. She felt wildly out of control. What was she hoping to accomplish? Before she opened the doorway, she turned around.

“You don’t get to just use me to prove a point!” she shouted in his face. She hadn’t realized he was right behind her, but she wasn’t going to back down.

Draco stepped closer, and Hermione felt the shelves press into her back uncomfortably.

“Do you hear yourself?” he said into her ear.

“That’s—” Her breath caught in her throat as he unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

The momentary shock allowed her to absorb his words. Fine, she supposed in her way she had done the same. That didn’t mean it was okay.

“Stop fighting me,” he said, kissing her neck. Her hands were on his chest as if she were going to push him away, but she was losing that battle fast. He pressed his hand into the small of her back and pulled her against him, and she dropped her arms to her side.

“And what if I don’t?” she asked. It was a weak attempt to delay the inevitable.

“Then you’ll go back to your room unsatisfied, and I’ll take a cold shower,” he said, ripping her knickers right off. Her eyes grew wide.

“This is extortion, you know,” she said.

“And?” he said, pressing his mouth against her throat in hot kisses.

“And…” she said trying to remember her argument. He did it on purpose, knowing full well that she would agree to almost anything in this state. Though, if she were honest with herself, she knew her answers would hardly change even without his hands coaxing her agreement. “And, I don’t want you to stop,” she said, sighing in resignation.

She hadn’t completely forgiven him and she channeled that last bit of anger into grabbing his collar, pushing him back and onto the floor, and climbing over him, fully intending to take what she wanted and as yet undecided whether or not she would let him finish once she was done with him. She pulled his trousers off and ripped his shirt open, then she removed her own shirt, pushing her bra down around her waist. He wasn’t smiling now, not even a smirk. And when she sank onto him and leaned over, breasts just grazing his chest, she could see a fire dancing in his eyes.

She lifted her hips up and away then dropped slowly onto him again, gratified, finally, by the internal stimulation. She stared unblinkingly into his eyes as she repeated the movement. The fire grew, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. She took the length of him and began to make more shallow movements, pressing into him for the external stimulation. Then she bit his lip, hard, and sucked, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He grabbed her hips and lifted his pelvis to match her movements. And then her orgasm broke over her, the anger and frustration flooding out, leaving only pleasure, endless rapture so consuming she hardly noticed Draco’s halting movements as he joined her. She melted into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“I forgive you,” she said, and she felt his chest rumble with quiet laughter.

“And I you,” he said, unwilling, even now to let her forget her part in it all. She didn’t care; moreover, some part of her brain respected him for his unwillingness to back down when he knew he was right.

They would talk about it later, but right now, she enjoyed the way his arms held her, the way he pressed a kiss into her forehead, the way she felt completely and utterly at home in his embrace. She never wanted to be anywhere else.

***

When the owl had dropped the letter in front of Hermione the next morning, she thought it was just another witch or wizard weighing in on her relationship with Draco. She had tossed it in her bag and brought it upstairs.

“Want some tea, love?” Draco said when they reached his room.

“We just finished breakfast,” Hermione laughed.

“Coffee, then?” he suggested.

“Tea will be fine if you’re making some for yourself,” she said.

Hermione made herself comfortable on the sofa and pulled out the letter, resigning herself to something ridiculous that she would immediately burn. She slit the envelope carefully while Draco made quiet noises in the kitchenette.

“Chamomile or Earl Grey?” he asked.

“Whichever you prefer,” she said, gingerly pulling the parchment from its sleeve. There weren’t any hexes as far as she could tell, and there didn’t seem to be any objects inside either.

“Not helpful,” Draco said. She already knew what he would choose, and she was okay with it.

“Dear Hermione,” she recognized the writing as Ron’s untidy scrawl. She was surprised and a bit anxious.

“Thank you for the letter last month and the birthday card. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back. I was trying to choose my words carefully. I must have torched five letters already. HA HA.”

Hermione appreciated that he had taken her words to heart, that even in her anger towards him in Hogsmeade, he had respected her request for him to cease communication unless he could be respectful—despite the fact that she hadn’t been very calm or kind in her communications to him, choosing instead to rise to the bait as she always did. She sighed, feeling the shame of her behavior all over again.

“I understand that it was you who told Pansy to come to me with the tip about Rookwood. Thank you. If I’m honest, and I think I can be with you even after everything, I really needed that win. The truth is that this Auror job is a lot tougher than I thought it would be. It feels like the war never really ended. We just keep tracking down one evil bastard after another. None as bad as you-know-who, but still. And, it’s really not as glamorous as I imagined. I mean, I spend half my time writing reports. You know how much I hate that! I thought I wouldn’t have to do that once I was out of Hogwarts. Joke’s on me. It just gets to me sometimes. I see the worst of our kind every day and it weighs on me. Harry is bloody brilliant, and he lives for it, but I just feel disappointed. Not much of a dream, after all. Thanks, anyway.”

“As for...all the other stuff. This is really hard for me to talk about, but Ginny insisted that I be honest. If you can be honest and open, I guess I owe it to you to try to do the same. I know that Rita is full of shite. You would never do something like that to me. As upset as I was about you refusing my proposal, I could never discredit your character by imagining you doing that. Time is a real bitch, though, I’ll tell you that much. (Sorry. Mum would flog me if she saw me swearing so much, but it’s easier for me to write this down if I don’t have to filter my thoughts). I guess I’m trying to say that you don’t have to apologize for moving on. Yes, it upset me. No, I still can’t get over you choosing Malfoy. But that’s my problem, not yours.

“I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me. I don’t know if I can be around Malfoy for a while, but I don’t want to lose you entirely. So, maybe we can take the friendship thing slow.

“'Mione, I still love you. I probably always will. But I’ve accepted your decision, and I’m going to move on. I’m going to let you move on, too. I won’t try to win you back; I don’t want you to worry about that. I’m sorry for how I treated you; you didn’t deserve any of it. Tell Malfoy that I’m not above hunting him down and making up some charges against him if he hurts you.

“Love from your friend if you’ll still have me, Ron.”

Hermione wiped a tear from her eye, and then another. Her anger had kept her from feeling much sadness of the destruction of their relationship, but now that it was gone she felt the weight of the loss pressing sharply into her conscience, into her heart. And there was the grief she had denied, unable to tolerate more loss. It hurt, even though she didn’t want it to. She had made the choice, hadn’t regretted it, but it was still painful and sad. She supposed that leaving someone you loved was always going to be sad, even when it was the right thing to do.

“Love,” Draco said, setting their teacups on the table, “did you get more hate mail?” He wrapped an arm around her, and she gratefully leaned into him.

“No,” she sniffed. “It’s from Ron.” She handed him the letter, but he only set it down next to their tea.

“Talk to me, Em,” he told her.

“It was the nicest thing Ron has ever said to me,” she told him, wiping away another tear.

“That’ll save me the trouble of killing him, then,” he said, and she laughed weakly.

“I feel like this last little splinter has been removed from my heart,” she told him, but she didn’t know quite how to explain it.

“Do you... have you regretted your decision at any point?” he said quietly. This was precisely why she was reluctant to have these conversations with him. Because it took so much time for her to explain the truth of what she felt, and in the meantime, he was hurt by what he thought she might mean.

“No. Never. It’s not that I was still holding on to him or anything like that. It’s just...” she tried to clarify. “It’s just that I had some residual guilt. I did love him—though it wasn’t anything like what I feel for you—and I...I just hate that I broke his heart.”

“I see,” he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. She supposed it was better to be open about it; for all she knew he wondered about it anyway, and now she could give him a definitive answer instead of leaving him to wonder and fill in the blanks himself.

Draco kissed her forehead and handed her a teacup. “Chamomile,” he said, and she smiled. She wondered if it was only his preference for it or if he was worried about something.

“Dray?” she said, watching as he brought the cup to his lips. The delicate teacup made his hands look strong, capable. She knew what those hands were capable of and she felt something ignite in her core.

“Yes, love?” he said pressing his lips into a closed-mouth smile that told her he had spotted the blush in her cheeks, the way her eyes lingered on him, the intake of breath as her heart pumped faster. She felt a flutter in her belly, and her love for him rippled through her body.

“Is everything all right?” she said, remembering herself.

“Of course. I’m not worried about a bit of correspondence with your ex-boyfriend who is still in love with you,” he said. He knew about that, then. Well, alright, it didn’t take a genius to see it. So long as he knew it was unrequited, they would be fine.

“Good, but that’s not what I meant,” she said, gently. Her eyes looked into his, searching for the worry he was so good at hiding.

“I’m just worried about you, Em,” he admitted.

“Me? Why?” she was surprised.

“You don’t eat. You sleep all the time. You…” he was choosing his words carefully, “...you’ve been more sensitive than usual.” She had been crying a lot, it was true, and over silly things. He must think she was a complete mess. “I’m worried you might be depressed.”

“Depressed?” she was surprised again.

“Are you, love?” he said, placing his hand on her cheek.

“I…” she searched herself for the feeling, but it wasn’t there. He was right about everything he’d said, but she didn’t think it was anything more than stress and the usual sadness she carried around like a gray cloud on a leash. “No. No, I don’t think I’m depressed. Maybe I’ve just been pushing myself too hard with N.E.W.T.s coming up and everything else,” she said waving vaguely at an invisible pile of things she’d been sweeping under the rug.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, “When did you become such a saint?”

“I’m sorry, what?” he said.

“No one is this bloody perfect,” she teased.

“And yet here I am,” he said drily, and then more seriously, “Love, I am far from perfect. What you’re seeing is the result of a great deal of effort. I’ve been working through a lot of things with Healer Moneta and a different healer before that—court-ordered, but it’s for the best. You know this. I promised you I was going to try to be the man you deserve, and this is me trying.”

There was something vulnerable in his voice, and Hermione hated herself for teasing him about it. This, it seemed, was a sensitive area and she would tread carefully in the future.

“Well, then,” she said, “there is something you can do to help me feel better.”

He looked at her expectantly. She set her teacup down. Then, she took his and placed it on the table.

“Don’t leave me in suspense,” he said, but he already knew where she was going.

She climbed into his lap, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a passionate kiss. She didn’t care about the naysayers who couldn’t stretch their limited imagination enough to understand how he had changed or the ones who were rooted staunchly in the belief that he was and would always be a heartless Death Eater, and she certainly didn’t have time for the ones who thought she was just a fool who had an unhealthy obsession with abusive bullies. She knew better and whatever disbelief she had ever held had long ago been dispelled.

She pulled the shirt off his head, and he reclined, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, making himself comfortable while she took her time admiring the view. She raised a brow, and he smirked. He knew how beautiful he was. She traced the faint pink scars marking his ivory skin, first with her finger and then with her lips. Reminding him that she wasn’t willfully ignoring his past, but accepting it and loving him anyway. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

“This is what makes you feel better, love?” he said. Two small lines of concern formed between his brows, accentuating the long line of his patrician nose and ending in the gentle arc of his lips, mouth parted slightly.

“You are what makes me feel better,” she said, then she kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and lowered her onto the sofa, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he held himself above her.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, then,” he said. The rest of their conversation slipped away, letter forgotten. All was right in the world.

***

By mid-March, all conversations circled around only two things: the upcoming Easter holiday that would give them all a much-needed break and the Gryffindor Quidditch game against Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff team had been practicing hard, but the Gryffindor team was nigh unbeatable, and a win would clinch their position as a top contender for the Quidditch House Cup.

So, when the game day arrived one week before the holiday, nearly everyone was in attendance. Even Hermione agreed to attend when Draco suggested it, though she would rather have spent the time preparing for N.E.W.T.s which were mere months away, weeks, really. She had been working too hard and was feeling more tired and burned out than usual, which she decided was good enough reason to take a break. It was her last year at Hogwarts, and she knew she had to take time to enjoy things like this before the opportunity was lost forever.

And so, on Saturday afternoon, Hermione and Draco followed the crowd outside. No one looked their direction anymore, having grown used to seeing the two of them together. It gave Hermione hope. She smiled to herself as Draco led them through the babbling river of students.

“Wait, you want to sit where?” Hermione asked Draco as they made their way toward the towering seats surrounding the Quidditch pitch.

“You heard me, Granger,” Draco said, looking at her from the corner of his eyes as they made their way to the Gryffindor benches.

“It’s just…” she searched for the right objection, “I thought…,” but nothing could fully express her shock.

“You thought I was avoiding all Gryffindors for the rest of my life?” Draco supplied. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve become their favorite secret weapon. Besides, aren’t you the one always pushing for inclusion?”

Before Hermione could respond, Draco grasped her hand and pulled her toward a group of Eighth Years in the very back of a sea of crimson. Neville waved them over, and they squeezed into a space between Pansy—whose sullen expression brightened slightly—and Blaise, who was chatting with some pretty Gryffindor Seventh year.

“And why aren’t you watching from the Slytherin stands?” Hermione said, leaning toward Pansy. They were joined from hip to knee, pressed in tight by the crowd. Had everyone come to this game?

Pansy brushed a handful of curls away from Hermione’s ear and leaned close to make sure she was heard over the excited chatter around them.

“Something to do with better views and better conversation,” Pansy said loudly, her breath warm on Hermione’s neck.

“But—” Hermione started. Just then, Draco leaned over and spoke into her other ear.

“Excuse me, love, I have somewhere to be, but I’ll be back shortly,” Draco said.

“Where—” Hermione tried to ask, but Draco kissed her cheek and left before she could say another word.

Hermione watched him wend his way through the crowd all the way to the front row where several teachers sat along with a wizard Hermione didn’t recognize. But Draco greeted the man as if they were old friends, though the man looked considerably older than Draco. Curious.

“So, you see,” Pansy said, threading her arm through Hermione’s and pulling her close, “it has all been arranged for your convenience.”

“Mmm,” Hermione acknowledged. She hadn’t the slightest clue what was convenient about this or why it was necessary at all, though she found herself relaxing in Pansy’s warmth. “I thought Luna would be here since the Ravenclaws aren’t playing,” Hermione said, shouting in the direction of Pansy’s ear.

“I can’t hear you!” Pansy said, leaning closer just as Hermione drew near, and her lips grazed Pansy’s ear as Hermione pursed her lips to speak. Hermione pulled back, and Pansy laughed, eyes full of mirth, and said, “If you wanted a kiss, you only had to ask!”

Pansy threw her head back and laughed, probably at the mortified expression on Hermione’s face. There was only one way to get over the embarrassment of it all.

“Since when do you wait for a person to ask?” Hermione shouted.

Pansy laughed harder. “This,” Pansy finally said, “is going to be so much more fun than I expected!”

Suddenly, the crowd grew hushed. The teams were on their brooms, and Madam Hooch threw the quaffle into the air. The crowd roared as Ginny caught the ball and made her way toward the goal post.

“Oh, look,” a dreamy voice said over the crowd, magically projecting as if through a speaker, “Ginny has the ball. She really is an amazing chaser, wouldn’t you agree, Professor?”

“Luna?” Hermione said. She felt Pansy shrug in response.

Hermione scanned the crowd and spotted Luna’s blonde mane near the scoreboard.

“Nice of the Hufflepuff beater to apologize after nearly taking Ginny’s head off with that bludger. He really ought to be more careful with his aim,” Luna said, “ Fortunately, Ginny has the reflexes of a billywig.”

“Oh, Salazar, this is going to be one to remember,” Pansy said almost to herself. Hermione smiled, agreeing wholeheartedly but loathe to say anything negative about Luna’s skills as a commentator.

As it turned out, Luna’s commentary was more entertaining than the actual game. After only twenty minutes, Ginny had scored several times. Draco returned and squeezed in next to Hermione again.

“Ooh, that’s got to hurt,” Luna could be heard saying. “We can only imagine why Sotheby was just sitting there on his broom waiting to be hit by the Gryffindor bludger, but I think it must have something to do with the wrackspurts that seem to be attracted to him like a niffler to gold.”

Draco laughed. The sound was one of delight, not derision, and Hermione’s mind drifted as her analytical brain ran its own commentary about the present situation. This, all of this—the jubilant chaos of the surrounding Gryffindors, Draco’s juniper scent, Luna’s dreamy voice, Pansy’s firm grasp on her arm—was something she never would have predicted at the beginning of the year, but here they were. Life was full of small, unexpected joy if you took a moment to notice and appreciate it. Hermione felt peace flood through her body, the feeling so intense she was certain she must be glowing with the light of it.

The crowd gasped then roared, bringing Hermione back to the game.

“Well, everyone,” Luna’s ethereal voice said, “that’s the game. The Gryffindors have caught the snitch and won the game. Valiant effort by the Hufflepuffs.”

“Ginny played brilliantly!” Draco said, leaning over as people around them stood and started making their way to the Gryffindor common room, where there would no doubt be a huge celebration—they were only one game away from the house cup, and no one really believed they wouldn’t win it.

“Who was that wizard?” Hermione shouted as she watched the man chat with McGonagall as they left the stands.

“An old family friend,” Draco said, “who happens to have a vested interest in seeing the Holyhead Harpies win next year.”

The Harpies? By why would he be here at Hogwarts? And then it all came together in Hermione’s mind.

“Does Ginny know he was here?” Hermione asked.

“No. It’s immaterial,” Draco said, wearing an expression of pride Hermione had rarely seen.

“Are we going to sit here all afternoon?” Pansy complained, pulling Hermione to her feet as she rose, their arms still linked, “or can we go inside and join the party?”

“You go right ahead, Parkinson,” Draco said. Pansy scowled and walked away, but not before smiling and winking at Hermione, who returned the smile.

“I don’t know why you’re always so hard on her,” Hermione said, turning to Draco.

He shrugged. “It’s just our way. Trust me, she’s fine. Let’s get you inside.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friend?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve already done so,” he said, putting his hand at the small of her back and gently urging her forward. And with that, they left, deciding to skip the party in the Gryffindor common room and celebrate on their own.

***

The fact that midterms were scheduled to begin after the holiday was a topic of much debate. Most were grateful for some reprieve, vowing that they would use some of their free time to prepare for the exams that would happen when they returned. Many, however, were disappointed to prolong the inevitable, knowing full well that the holiday would only be an opportunity for everything they had learned to leak from their heads or else grow stale with disuse.

While exams had been put off, there was still the matter of tending to the Veritaserum for Slughorn’s class. The four of them had adhered to the schedule to make sure the potion was progressing as required. This evening, Draco and Hermione were tasked with completing the tasks that would take their potion to the last stages of completion.

They had set up their potion in a vacant tower, and moonlight flooded in through the wide windows. Draco sat against a far wall, moonlight giving his pale hair a silvery glow, and Hermione could almost imagine that he was formed of stardust and dreams.

She thought of the dreams she’d been having and felt a slight unease ripple unsettlingly beneath her skin. She let go of the shapeless worry and focused on the cauldron in front of her. She was supposed to be stirring. Instead, she stared into it, noting the milky white color that would soon turn to a crystal clear. It was a bit like life, she mused—things often became more clear if one only had the patience to wait for the change to occur. She began stirring, and her thoughts drifted to Avebury. If only she could remember what had happened. The ripple traveled down her spine, and she shivered uncomfortably.

“Only twelve strokes clockwise,” Draco reminded her.

“Yes, I know how to read and how to count as well,” she shot back, feeling a bit testy. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

She finished stirring and sat on the opposite wall, giving her an unobstructed view of Draco’s relaxed form. He was leaning casually against the wall, sitting with one leg outstretched and the other bent, his arm resting on his knee. How did he manage to always look so at ease?

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” he said, offering her an excuse, “I don’t know why you refuse to take a sleeping potion.”

A guilty look crossed Hermione’s face; she hadn’t told him about her latest dreams. She leaned against the cold stone wall and tried to relax. They would have to wait fifteen minutes, add one more ingredient, then they could leave it simmering over the next week. Theo would keep an eye on it while they were gone over the holiday.

“Been dreaming again, love?” Draco said, reading it from her face. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, rather too quickly to be convincing.

“Oh,” he said, leaning forward, bending both knees and using them as a perch to rest his forearms, “that does not sound like nothing.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief and anticipation. If Hermione didn’t tell him willingly, he would force it out of her. It wouldn’t take much, and he knew it.

She sighed. “Oh, all right. You really are insufferable, you know that?”

Draco laughed. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“It’s nothing, really,” she stalled, “It’s just I dreamed of...our daughter.”

Draco’s smirk softened into a gentle smile. Hermione didn’t know why it embarrassed her to tell him about dreams of what appeared to be their future. She supposed she still had some residual prejudice against dreaming of domestic bliss, believing, mistakenly, that it precluded career success. She had already dreamed of her achievements and knew that children wouldn’t hinder her career in any way, not with Draco by her side.

“Was that all?” he asked, still smiling.

“No,” she said, reluctant to admit the rest. She took a deep breath and let it out, “I also dreamed that I was married to Ron, but we had a big fight, and then I ran into you, and we shagged. I felt so much guilt and shame. It was terrible!”

“I certainly can’t imagine anything more terrible than you being married to Ron,” Draco teased.

Hermione sighed. “I just don’t understand it. What do you think?” The dreams were perplexing, and she had grown weary of trying to puzzle them out.

“I think that it’s a good thing you’re not a Seer, love, or I might start to worry,” Draco said.

Hermione laughed uncomfortably. Her vivid dreams had felt very much like truth. Though she couldn’t understand the conflict between the two entirely different realities they seemed to show her. She expressed her next thought aloud, “It felt more like I was dreaming of the past. Which makes no sense, all things considered. But it certainly wasn’t the future. Obviously.”

“Obviously you would never leave this,” Draco made a sweeping gesture from his pale locks down the length of his body, “for Weasley,” he finished, self-assured smirk back in place. He leaned against the wall again.

Hermione crossed the space between them and climbed into his lap. Draco put his arms around her.

“Yes, but…” she found herself searching for the courage to reveal the ridiculous fear that had taken hold of her since the dream, “...but there’s nothing stopping _you_ from leaving _me_ one day.”

She let her eyes fall away, afraid to see the expression on his face lest it confirm her fear or worse, betray his judgment of her for entertaining such concerns. Draco touched her chin, tilting her head back.

“Look at me,” he said, and she did. “There’s nothing stopping me from leaving? Do you really believe that?”

His eyes, molten mercury, bore into her and she squirmed.

“If things get hard...we don’t know what life will bring...we can’t predict how we will react,” she tried to rationalize.

And then she understood that she was projecting Ron’s failures onto Draco. He seemed to understand.

“But you don’t really believe I’m so easily shaken, do you, love?”

“No,” she said, looking at him.

He kissed her then. It was foolish for her to believe that she could know how the rest of their lives would play out. But then, she didn’t need to know. No matter what happened, they both had a choice in how they reacted. She would always choose love, choose him. And she knew he would do the same. Right now, that was enough.

What wasn’t enough was this gentle kissing they were still doing. She grabbed Draco’s black shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side while silently appreciating the way the dark fabrics he loved beautifully contrasted his fair skin and ashen hair. Draco cocked his head and raised a brow in question. She let her hunger for him pour out in a look, and he used his wand to remove the rest of their clothing.

Hermione lifted herself onto his cock and sighed with pleasure when she sank onto him, easily taking in the length of him. Her nipples grazed his chest, and it sent an electric pulse directly between her legs, causing her muscles to spasm in anticipation. She rolled her hips toward him, wanting the full clitoral stimulation as well, and then found a rhythm that would send her quickly over the edge. She let her head fall back in surrender and felt his warm mouth press against her throat. It was enough to make her cry out in surprise as a powerful wave of euphoria washed over her. Everything disappeared; there was nothing except the two of them, joined together, her sex pulsing around him as he released his seed deep into her. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his shoulder, never wanting to let him go.

Her mind had relaxed, releasing something that was now fluttering around like a bird who had escaped its cage but couldn’t find its way to the open window. Oh! She caught a brief glimpse of it and wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before, but before she could catch the thought, Draco was lifting her off of him, and her attention shifted to the feeling of disappointment over the separation.

“It’s time to add the rose thorns,” he said.

He stood and walked to the cauldron, still nude. Hermione admired his figure and the confident swagger that used to irritate her. She wondered at how much could change in the space of only a few months; never would she have foreseen this moment. The strength of her love for him was the least predictable thing of all. She loved him for everything he was. In her blissful state, she imagined that her love could stretch over everything he ever would be, and she smiled even as she watched a drop of blood spill from the palm of his hand onto the floor, likely the result of a resentful thorn. Life was full of them, wasn’t it? But, she supposed you had to accept that the fragrant petals came at a cost. It was worth it. The beauty of it all the more lovely for the reminder of life’s fragility.

She leaned against the wall, thinking she could fall asleep right here—naked, on the cold stone floor. It was fine. It was all going to be just fine.

***

The next Hogsmeade trip fell on the Saturday before the Easter holiday. Many students had opted out, choosing instead to head home and spend their time with family. Hermione and Draco had planned to stay at Malfoy Manor, and though the time there during the winter holiday had turned out to be quite nice, Hermione wasn’t in a hurry to go back to life outside of their comfortable bubble.

And so the two of them walked to Hogsmeade in the mid-morning light. Though a cool breeze cut through her jumper, the sun was shining and Hermione couldn’t help but feel grateful for Spring and its reminder that new life always buds after even the harshest winter.

“What is going on in that head of yours?” Draco said, a quizzical look on his face.

“Hmm?” Hermione said, snapping out of her reverie. “Oh, nothing.”

“If a moment ever existed that you had nothing going on in there, I would readily eat my hat,” Draco said.

Hermione let out a soft laugh, then said, “It’s just nonsense.”

“Lovely nonsense, judging by the look on your face. But I won’t press you to reveal your less-than-practical side.”

They passed by the Shrieking Shack and Hermione shivered violently, though for the moment the air was still.

“What’s the matter, love?” Draco asked.

“This place. After what happened to Snape. I…” she didn’t know how to describe it. She hadn’t been there, but Harry had told them about it in graphic detail, needing to share the burden of the horror he had witnessed, particularly after he knew the truth of what Snape had done for them all.

“Ah, I understand,” Draco said.

“There’s something else, but I don’t really understand it. I just have a bad feeling about it. Let’s get into town,” she said, feeling irrational but convinced that they needed to get away.

Draco cast a wary eye on the dilapidated building and picked up his pace a bit, rapidly putting distance between them and the memories that haunted the place.

They were silent during the time it took to get into the village, but when the finally arrived it was bustling with students whose spirits had been lifted by the promise of two-weeks of homework-free time ahead of them...or else sweets from Honeydukes. Hermione couldn’t help but smile, the heaviness lifting.

“Shall we nip into Madam Puddifoot’s?” Draco teased.

“Godric, no!” Hermione said.

Draco adopted a look of mock offense. “You don’t want to sip tea in a cloyingly sweet room and stare into my eyes?”

“If I’m going to stare into your eyes, I don’t want it to be from the other side of a table,” Hermione said, dropping her voice a bit. She raised a brow at him as they walked and watched his mouth form a satisfied smirk.

“I can arrange for something more conducive to that. Should we head back to the castle now? Or perhaps we can just get a room in the Three Broomsticks?” Draco offered.

Hermione laughed. “It will have to wait. I want to stop in Tomes and Scrolls. I realized that I haven’t checked there for the book I’ve been looking for.”

“The Muggle folklore book?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded. “Have you considered that perhaps it doesn’t exist?”

“It has to exist. I distinctly remember it,” Hermione said.

“And when was the last time you recall looking at that book?” Draco pressed.

“I...well..I can’t recall. But when I close my eyes I can see the cover of the book, the chapters in the table of contents, the illustrations. Draco, it’s real,” Hermione insisted.

They stopped at the front door. They were obstructing the entrance, but few ever crossed the threshold into this shop—most Hogwarts students completely uninterested in perusing a shop full of old and obscure books and locals stopping only for specific needs.

“Are you coming in with me or not?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, I’m coming in. There’s an old alchemy book I’ve been meaning to look for, and mother wanted me to pick up...something for her,” Draco said.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, but when he didn’t offer further explanation, she pulled open the door and went inside, Draco trailing after her. She took a moment to take a deep breath, enjoying the smell of old parchment and binding glue.

Draco headed toward some shelves on the back wall. Hermione looked around, wondering where a book on Muggle folklore might reside. It was a stretch to imagine a small shop like this would carry the book, but then again, this shop was known for carrying obscure books, and perhaps if they didn’t have it in stock, the owner could order it for her. She turned to some shelves near the door and began a methodical perusal of the shop, interested in seeing what other treasures the shop might contain.

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione hadn’t found the book. She had, however, come across several other interesting books, including one on time travel. It had pinged something in the back of her mind, and she stood staring at the table of contents slowly uncovering the thought from beneath a mountainous pile that very much resembled the stacks of lost things in the Room of Requirement.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Draco said, coming up behind her.

“No,” she said closing the book in her hand and replacing it on the shelf. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he said, holding up a small brown bag. “Let’s go. We’re supposed to be meeting the others soon. Got off to a late start this morning.”

Hermione blushed, remembering waking up just as Draco had finished showering.

They turned onto the main road and made their way toward The Three Broomsticks. She saw Ron at one end and waved.

Just then Hermione heard Pansy’s voice behind her, “Hermione!”

Hermione turned, confused by the note of panic she heard in Pansy’s voice. Just then a jet of red light shot between Draco and Hermione, nearly hitting Pansy.

Draco’s hand jerked free of hers and Hermione spun around. Ron was running toward them and there, just outside of a nearby alleyway was a rough-looking wizard, his face twisted with a look of malice that shot directly from his wand toward them.

Draco jumped in front of Hermione and was hit with a body bind curse. He fell to the ground with a thud. Hermione froze. What had happened to the war heroine? She only knew she felt an intense need to protect Draco and herself.

Pansy shot an offensive curse, then quickly freed Draco of his magical restraints. Hermione finally tore her eyes away from him, but too late. A jet of red light hit her chest and sent her flying backward toward the brick wall behind her, lifting her off the ground and tossing her like a ragdoll. She heard Ron shout something just before her head exploded with pain in a burst of light, and then everything went black.

***

Hermione’s head throbbed painfully, and she felt her brows pull together in consternation.

“It’s been three days, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione heard a familiar voice say. Her thoughts were jumbled and she couldn’t connect the name to the voice. “Perhaps you would do well to return to your dormitory, freshen up, and get a bit of real sleep.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you,” Draco said, polite but firm.

“I’ll be on my way, then. Notify me—”

“—the moment she wakes up, I know,” Draco said to the witch. Hermione heard footsteps retreating.

Hermione’s eyes felt heavy, but she willed herself to open them. Her vision was blurry and she blinked several more times before she could see clearly. Draco looked weary, like he hadn’t slept in days. She squeezed his hand and his eyes shot open.

“Em, are you really awake?” Draco said, forgetting the promise he had just made.

“Yes, I think so,” she was confused, her throat was dry.

He leaned over and pulled her into a crushing hug that sent a searing pain through her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, responding to her sharp intake of breath. “Em, I didn’t know if you were going to wake up again.”

She coughed and Draco handed her a glass of water. She drank the entire glass in one long swallow, though it hardly touched the parched feeling making her feel brittle, like she could crumble at any moment.

“Draco, what happened?” she asked. Her memory was fuzzy. She could see now that she was in the Hospital Wing, but she had no recollection of how or why she’d come to be there.

“Nott Sr. attacked us in Hogsmeade,” the scene began to take shape in Hermione’s memory, “he stunned you and you flew into a wall. Madam Pomfrey said you had a concussion…” Draco’s voice drifted away.

“And Nott Sr.?” Hermione said, prompting Draco to finish the story.

“He was captured. And you…”

“Are awake now,” Hermione said. Her head was throbbing and her whole body ached.

“Love,” Draco spoke in a barely audible voice, “did you know?” There was something wild in his eyes as he searched her face for the answer to the question she didn’t understand.

“That Nott was going to show up in Hogsmeade? No, of course not. Though, now that I think about it…” she coughed again and took another drink of water. “That feeling I got when we passed the Shrieking Shack...Nott must have been hiding there,” she ventured a guess, beginning to put together a bits and pieces of information.

“No, love. Not that,” Draco said quietly, his eyes becoming glassy. Hermione felt a bolt of fear course through her body.

“What is it?” she asked, even though she was sure she didn’t want to know.

“The ba—” Draco’s voice cracked, and his composure shattered as he wept into his hands, releasing a heart-piercing sound she’d never heard him make before. She leaned forward, ignoring her body’s protest and pulled him into a hug. He put his arms around her weakly and cried into her chest.

“Draco,” she said finally, trying to keep her voice calm, “please, tell me what’s going on. You’re frightening me.”

He pulled away and fixed her with an empty, bloodshot stare. Tears leaked from his red-rimmed eyes and she felt the familiar stinging in her own eyes.

“The baby, Em,” he said, voice shaking with grief. “The baby didn’t survive.”

“Baby?” she said, voice hitching as something hot ripped through her chest. “No,” she whispered, answering his question. “No,” she said again beginning to understand the aching emptiness in her womb. Her mind raced through the last three months and suddenly everything fit together. She had been pregnant and not even realized it.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, pulling her close. She was in shock. Some part of her brain stepped back and watched her as she sat there, unmoving, trying to make sense of it all. The exhaustion, the sickness, the emotional outbursts. There had been a baby, their baby growing inside her and now it was gone. Gone before she ever knew of its existence.

“No,” she said again, voice breaking into a sob.

Her head throbbed again and she felt as if she were dying. No, she only wished for death in the face of the intense pain raking through her body, breaking her into a million tiny pieces. Surely a person couldn’t live through this kind of pain. How was her heart still beating? Grief sunk its razor sharp claws into her chest and ripped her heart out, leaving a gaping hole that only moments before had been filled with love.

The air felt thin and she struggled to breathe. How did she continue to draw breath when her baby never would? Soul-splintering sorrow coursed through her veins. How could she feel so much love for a creature whose existence she had only just learned of? How could she feel such loss for something she hadn’t known existed?

And then she thought of Draco, who had been dealing with this on his own for the last three days, and it brought her back to the moment.

“Oh, Dray, I’m so sorry,” she said. Sorry for not being more careful, sorry for not being awake to help him through this, sorry for making him worry about her on top of everything else.

“I knew you would have told me,” he said, almost as if talking to himself, “but I was starting to go crazy by myself. Questions turned into doubts, which turned into unsubstantiated stories, which turned into desperate pleas.”

She could see a faraway look in his eyes, and she felt the thread between them stretch painfully, as if it would snap. She could see now that it had frayed, and if she wasn’t careful, she could lose him to this...this sadness, this guilt, whatever it was that had been ravaging him for the last three days. Three days of terror. Three days of incomprehensible loss. Three days of drifting alone, unanchored in the storm.

“Dray, look at me,” she said desperately, knowing suddenly that she had to pull him off a ledge, “Look at me!” she demanded, pushing her grief aside for a moment. She couldn’t risk losing him, too. Suddenly, her whole life depended on this. It would surely kill her to grieve the loss of them both on her own.

He looked at her. He was lost, forlorn, questioning. In a deeper circle of hell than he had ever been in.

“I would have told you, of course,” she said, “Forget about all of that. Come back to me, Dray. I can’t lose you,” she said, feeling desperate as her tears began to flow. “Don’t leave,” she said, not caring how it sounded or how weak he thought her to be. There was no holding back anymore.

“Leave?” he said, brow knitting in confusion.

“Please,” she said through another sob. Her nose was running and eyes leaking, but she didn’t care. She searched the cool grey eyes for any sign of recognition. She kissed him, cupping his face with one hand, then pulled away and looked at him. There he was, the Draco she knew and loved.

“For a moment,” he said quietly, “I thought I had lost everything.”

Hermione sat quietly, letting him hold all of his dark thoughts to the light.

“I thought I had finally gotten what I’d deserved,” he continued, “but at your expense. I couldn’t live with that, Em.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “But if you walk away now, then it’s all in vain.” She needed to make him see.

“Quiet, love,” he said, knowing she was getting worked up. “I thought about it, I did, but it seems ridiculous now and I know I never could have done it. Without you, I’m lost. I will risk your resentment if it means I can keep you.”

She felt relief wash over her.

“I will never, ever resent or blame you, and I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself again,” she said. “I mean it, Draco Malfoy.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Forget I even mentioned it,” he said, and she could see the relief on his face. Godric, the hell he must have put himself through the last few days.

Now that they were safe, the dam broke and Hermione dissolved into tears. More tears than she had cried in the last year. Enough tears to convince her that she would shortly become dehydrated. Tears that were expelled like shards of glass, bringing no relief to the agony of her broken heart. Tears that were surely the very pieces of her heart that had shattered beyond repair. She cried, knowing that she would never be able to stop, even when the tears were dried. Her soul would always weep the loss of the love she would never know.

Draco, held her hand, and let his own tears leak silently down his cheeks.

“I see Mr. Malfoy has already given you the news,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Take this,” she said, pushing a vial in Hermione’s direction.

“I don’t need it,” she objected even though she didn’t have any idea what it was.

“Miss Granger, you have spent enough time in here to know better,” Madam Pomfrey insisted, and Hermione gave in. “Mr. Malfoy, I must insist you drink this as well.”

The pain abated, and Hermione felt grateful for the relief. She laid her head on the pillow, and smiled at Draco as she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

~~~

_“Mumma!” said the blonde-haired girl. She was positively angelic with her fair skin, rosy cheeks, and pale grey eyes, so like her father’s. Flaxen ringlets framed her face like a halo._

_“Lyra, darling! I’ve missed you,” Hermione said, picking up the child and spinning her in a hug._

_“Silly, Mumma,” the child said, her small pink mouth spreading into a smile, “Lyra is always in mumma’s heart,” she said placing a chubby hand over Hermione’s heart._

_“Of course, darling. How could I forget?” Hermione said, laughing and kissing the toddler’s cheek._

_“Don’t forget, Mumma,” the child threw her arms around Hermione’s neck in a crushing hug. “Love you, Mumma. Tell daddy.”_

~~~

A pitiful wail woke Hermione from sleep. It took her a moment to realize the sound had come from her. When she opened her eyes, it was dark and a feeling of panic bled through the crushing sorrow.

“Draco!” she gasped, feeling vulnerable. Alone and unable to bear the weight of the grief rushing toward her like a tidal wave. “Draco, I need you!”

“I’m here, love,” she heard his voice from the bed next to hers.

“Too far,” she said. “Please, lie next to me.”

She heard him get up and then felt him feeling his way into her bed, gently as if he might break her if he wasn’t very, very careful. But then he was lying next to her, arms pulling her against his chest, where she began to sob uncontrollably. Is this how it would be now? Pain and tears and black despair stretching out forever? Hermione could feel Draco’s chest shaking in silent sobs.

“She was so tiny,” Draco said, voice breaking at the memory.

Oh, Godric, he had seen the baby? She didn’t know how far along she had been, but if…hold on...

“She?” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice. She must have been quite far along already.

“Lyra,” Draco said. He had named her, and it made her cry with renewed vigor. She would never see him hold their daughter or call her name or watch her grow.

When the tears abated—only a temporary respite, she could feel it—she spoke, “It’s a beautiful name,” she said, finding his hand and twining her fingers with his. She thought of the dream she'd just had and added, "she..." her breath hitched, but then she continued, "she would want you to know that she loves you and will always live in our hearts."

Draco kissed her, transferring all the love he could never give to their baby. She took it all in as if it were a healing potion. She tasted the salt of his tears and began to cry again, lips still locked to his. And it was enough, this connection. A simple kiss. Even if her heart had wanted more, her body had nothing to give. She was acutely aware of a tender pain between her legs, a crampy feeling in her abdomen.

“I can feel the emptiness,” she said. She hadn’t been in touch with her body enough to recognize the pregnancy for what it was, but now that the baby was gone, she could feel the difference.

“Does it hurt, love?” he said.

“A bit, yes,” she told him. “No, don’t move! It hurts more when I can’t feel your touch, like I could just slip right out of my skin and drift away.” It was a lovely thought. Blissful release.

His arm tightened around her, and it was enough to recall her to life. However barren it looked right now, there was love and that would have to be enough.

***

Madame Pomfrey released Hermione the next day. It was Easter Holiday and Narcissa insisted that they go to Malfoy Manor at once.

  
“Do you have anything in here,” Pansy said holding up one of Hermione’s plain shirts between a thumb and forefinger as if it were a rather disgusting bit of rubbish, “that doesn’t look like it was chosen by an eight-year-old version of yourself?” Pansy’s nose was wrinkled in disapproval.

Hermione only shook her head, not caring at all about her clothes or anything really. The only thing she could feel is a small bit of gratitude that Pansy had insisted on helping her pack her things while Draco was gathering his own belongings for the stay at Malfoy Manor.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Hermione said, through tears that hadn’t stopped flowing since they’d started.

“Oh yes, I most definitely do,” Pansy said, talking to a pair of corduroy pants that she let fall into a heap on the ground. “What we need,” Pansy said, continuing the conversation without requiring Hermione’s participation, “is a shopping trip. There’s only so much I can do with this,” Pansy said, folding the clothes neatly and packing them together in outfits, presumably to save Hermione from making the decision herself later, or, more likely, in an attempt to save her from the disastrous clothing choices Pansy deemed too frumpy for her liking.

“What good is it having a body like that,” Pansy said, her monologue never-ending, eyes sweeping over the length of Hermione’s reclined form, “if all you’re going to do is hide it with these…” Pansy’s green eyes returned to Hermione’s face and her expression softened, “less-than-flattering things.” Hermione suspected she had been about to say something much less kind. She didn’t need Pansy to spare her, but she appreciated the gesture and gave Pansy a watery smile.

“That’s you packed, then, doll,” Pansy said, zipping Hermione’s bag.

“Thank you, Pansy,” Hermione said. Pansy tilted her head as if considering something, then climbed onto the bed next to Hermione. She brushed a matted curl away from Hermione’s face and looked down at her smiling. “Anytime.” Pansy kissed Hermione’s forehead. “You do know…” Pansy hesitated, “well, you know I’m here if you need anything.”

“I do,” Hermione said, and then without thinking she wrapped her arms around Pansy and pulled her into a tight hug, enjoying the comfort offered by this friendship she never expected. Pansy stiffened, then relaxed before pulling gently away and standing.

“Good, then,” Pansy said, flipping her raven hair off her shoulder and smirking. She gave Hermione a sharp nod and then left the room. Hermione didn’t move, choosing instead to stare at the canopy of her bed and wondering how quickly that feeling was swallowed by the chasm in her heart.

Somewhere in the other room there were voices, but Hermione paid them no mind.

“Love,” Draco said, “it’s time to go,” Draco said, shrinking her bags and placed them in his pocket.

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t move. Instead, she thought about how nice it would be to lay there until she had cried every ounce of water from her body, until her body became brittle and Draco’s sigh scattered her into the air where she could dance among the dust motes free of pain, free of care.

“Hermione,” Draco said, loudly. Had he been calling her? She felt herself settle painfully back in her body. Her empty, useless body.

“Hmmm?” she hummed, mind refusing to be anchored.

“It’s time to go,” he repeated.

“That sounds lovely. I’m ready,” she said. She imagined floating away.

After a few beats of silence, she looked at Draco. He was staring at her, concern etched in his features.

“Em, please,” he said, his voice cracking around the edges. She stood up dutifully, putting in effort for Draco’s sake alone, and they walked down to the common room, her head resting on his shoulder. McGonagall had allowed for them to use the Floo Network from their common room, so their travel would be easy.

“Malfoy Manor!” Draco said when they were in the cavernous fireplace. They stepped out of an equally large fireplace. Hermione didn’t bother clearing the ash, preferring instead to look as black on the outside as she felt on the inside. Draco pulled her into the room, his room, Hermione realized.

“I’ve already spoken to my mother,” he said. “You will be staying in here with me.”

“Is it alright if I sleep for a few minutes right now?” Hermione asked.

“Of course,” Draco said.

And she drifted into sleep for days, vaguely hoping she could live the rest of her days in blissful oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one. I spent a long time figuring out whether or not the baby survived, but in the end, the story decided for me. I don't understand why, but we never do. And so it is here. A reminder: this story does have a happy ending, so stick with me.


	12. April 1999

It was dark when Hermione finally emerged from her fitful slumber. The last few days had passed in a blur of sleep and forced meals, which she had eaten in bed because moving felt like too much effort. What was the point? Still, she dutifully swallowed spoonfuls of soup and choked down bites of buttered toast when Draco sat by her side, refusing to leave until she had taken at least some of the proffered meals. He always left with a weary sigh, but Hermione was too tired to let it concern her.

Draco lay sleeping quietly next to her, his breath escaping in a slow rhythm that Hermione found comforting. Hermione rolled onto her side, facing away from Draco, intending to push up against him, but she spotted a dim glowing ball of light near the edge of the bed and knew she was being beckoned by the mistress of the house. As Hermione sat up and pulled on a dressing gown, she wondered if this was the first night it had appeared or if Narcissa had made several attempts to pull her from the abyss she’d flung herself into.

Hermione followed the light out of the bedroom and down the familiar path to Narcissa’s sitting room. Her legs felt weak and she regretted her choice to stay in bed for so long. It hadn’t helped much. She didn’t feel any better than when she’d first climbed into Draco’s bed. Her muscles ached, reminding her that, in fact, she felt worse.

When Hermione pushed open the final door, she was greeted by a warm fire and Narcissa’s regal figure sitting in one of the wingback chairs reading a book. Hermione felt herself smile as she wondered whether Draco’s enjoyment of reading had been cultivated by his mother. As Hermione took her place in the empty chair, Narcissa slowly pulled a ribbon between the pages she had been reading, gently closed the book, and set it on the table between them. Hermione surreptitiously glanced at the cover, curiosity getting the best of her, but she found no title.

“I do enjoy a good book,” Narcissa said, missing nothing, “but on occasion what I need is to revisit my past. This,” Narcissa gestured to the leather bound book, “is a more recent diary.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could think to say.

Narcissa extended a crystal tumbler in Hermione’s direction. Hermione took the glass, understanding the silent command. She eyed the clear liquid warily, but slowly brought the glass to her lips and consumed it in one long swallow. It slid through her insides like fire, and when the fire died, she felt the absence of the physical ache she’d been feeling since she awoke in the hospital. She lifted her eyes to Narcissa’s, which had never left her.

“This potion is particularly good for healing internal damage. It’s not easy to come by—very complicated and some of the ingredients are particularly expensive—but I have had occasion to require it in the past,” Narcissa said.

Hermione only gaped at her.

“Do you believe you are the only woman to have known such a loss?” Narcissa said, imperially. Then more gently, “Draco was not meant to be an only child. However, no amount of magic could help me carry subsequent children to term.”

Narcissa lifted her own glass and took a sip. Her eyes moved to the fire, perhaps remembering the children she would never know. Hermione wondered how many miscarriages Narcissa had suffered, but she didn’t dare ask. Besides, it wasn’t what she really wanted to know.

“Does the pain ever go away?” Hermione asked. She could feel it even now, a crushing weight in her chest, an empty ache in her heart, a sharp stinging behind her eyes.

“No,” Narcissa answered. “But,” and Narcissa looked at Hermione again, “it quiets, softens over time.”

Hermione understood, but at this moment she couldn’t fathom that she could ever learn to live with such an unbearable ache. She felt it balloon in her chest, and then warm tears slid from her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“You learn to live with it,” Narcissa said, reaching across the divide and placing her cool hand gently on Hermione’s hand which was resting on the arm of the chair, “and the mere existence of such sorrow colors the rest of your life in an unexpected way. You understand that nothing is promised, and so everything becomes more precious, more vibrant. Even grief has its beauty, darling.”

The use of this endearment only increased the flow of tears. Narcissa withdrew her hand and filled Hermione’s glass with the same amber liquid in her own glass. Hermione drank it gratefully, unbothered by the harshness of the alcohol. The physical discomfort pulled her away from the emotional turmoil wreaking havoc in her heart and she was grateful for the distraction.

It occurred to Hermione that perhaps Narcissa’s losses, for surely there had been multiple, had given her the fearlessness and desperation to tell the lie to Voldemort that would end the war once and for all and ensure the safe return of her only living child. The man Hermione loved, the one whose child she had lost.

After a few minutes, Hermione composed herself enough to ask a question that had surfaced in her mind, “Are you upset with us?”

Hermione hadn’t realized that she had been worrying so much about Narcissa’s opinion until she had sat down across from her. She knew enough about purebloods to understand that they were traditionally very conservative, having to do with taking care to preserve bloodlines.

“I can’t say that I’m pleased to learn about such carelessness,” Narcissa said, and Hermione felt the sting of the rebuke, “but I’m much more concerned about your well-being and the effect that all of this is having on Draco.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, feeling the tears well up again.

“Don’t be sorry,” Narcissa said. “Be more careful.”

“I...yes, of course,” Hermione said. They had been careful. Hermione searched her memory for a lapse and she thought about a moment in December. The memory was emerging like stars twinkling through a fog, but before she could remember, Narcissa spoke again.

“The potion has healed your body, but you will have to do the work of healing your heart. It cannot be done while you sleep,” Narcissa said pointedly.

“I understand. I rather think I’ve slept enough,” Hermione admitted.

“I do have a potion or two to help take the edge off the pain, should you need it,” Narcissa offered with an unspoken warning.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I’ll let you know if I require assistance.”

Narcissa eyed Hermione appraisingly, then nodded in approval.

“I expect to see you at breakfast in the morning,” Narcissa said, effectively dismissing Hermione.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione replied, taking her leave.

Narcissa picked up the journal, pulling the ribbon to open to the page she had last been reading and Hermione resisted the urge to look over the woman’s shoulder. She wondered which point in her past Narcissa desired to revisit. The door to the sitting room clicked quietly to a close and Hermione wondered whether or not Narcissa might one day share more. How odd to even consider the possibility. Hermione laughed quietly at the absurdity of it.

It was quiet in the manor as Hermione padded her way back to Draco’s room. She delighted in the feel of the cool wood beneath her bare feet and realized it was the first time she’d enjoyed any physical sensation in days.

She began to feel something else as she entered Draco’s bedroom, and she was surprised to find that the intensity for her desire for Draco hadn’t diminshed at all. Hermione climbed into bed quietly and wrapped herself around the deeply sleeping figure beside her. She smiled and drifted into the first peaceful sleep she’d had in days.

***

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said as Hermione took a seat at the breakfast table next to Draco.

“Good morning,” Hermione said.

Draco lowered the Daily Prophet that hidden him from view when Hermione had entered the room. He folded it neatly, set it on the table, then looked her over curiously as if she were only a figment of his imagination.

“I trust you are well this morning,” Narcissa said, and Hermione knew there was no question in the statement. She had used the potion before and knew its effectiveness. Hermione scanned her body, noting nothing more than a tightness in her chest that only time could heal.

“Quite well, thank you,” Hermione said. Narcissa looked her over appraisingly, then finally nodded and turned her attention to a piece of toast that wanted of butter.

Hermione turned toward Draco. “Good morning,” she said, tentatively. She wondered if he was upset with her for being absent for so long, though she wasn’t entirely sure exactly how long it had actually been. The days blurred together in a tangled mess of sleep and tears. She felt rather ashamed of herself for falling apart so completely. Her smile faltered.

“Good morning, love,” Draco said, rising from his seat to lean over and kiss her cheek. She felt his hand slide into hers and when he returned to his seat, his arm bridged the divide, hands remaining linked in her lap. She felt a warm feeling spread from their entwined hands, up her arm, and into her chest, where it soothed the ache in her heart so that she could feel grief’s tight grasp relax just enough for her to breathe easily again.

“If you will excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to,” Narcissa said, breaking the silence. “Draco, I expect to see you in the study in one hour.”

“Yes, mother,” Draco said, tearing his eyes away from Hermione.

“Hermione, I hope you will consider joining me for tea this afternoon,” Narcissa said, as she rose from her seat.

“Of course, thank you,” Hermione said.

Narcissa nodded approvingly, then turned and left with the decisive steps of a woman who had important things to do but would never lower herself to look hurried. No one would ever doubt that it was Narcissa who called the shots, not Time with its insistent and unrelenting demands.

“Are you really okay, love?” Draco said, eyes examining her carefully, probably checking for hairline cracks. She squeezed his hand encouragingly, letting the fragile china doll façade fracture and fall to the ground so the Gryffindor warrior could emerge once more—with a bit more humility than before and a bit less naivete.

“Your mother gave me a healing potion,” she admitted, remembering her promise to be truthful.

“Good,” Draco said, and Hermione was glad he didn’t ask further questions. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal to reveal the details of her conversation with Narcissa. Hermione didn’t know how much Draco knew about what Narcissa had revealed, but that was Narcissa’s story to tell, not hers.

“I’m starved,” Hermione said, releasing his hand.

“You’ve eaten nothing but—I’m sorry, I thought you were hungry,” Draco said, as Hermione unfolded the Daily Prophet that he had been reading.

“I am,” she said, absently reaching for a piece of dry toast as she began scanning the paper for information. From the corner of her eye, she could see Draco shake his head as he reached for her plate and began filling it with a variety of items on the table.

According to the date on the paper, she had been asleep for three days. It was Easter Sunday and she laughed as she thought about how it was as if she had just risen from the dead. In a way, she had. She sighed and scanned the headlines.

“Oh!” she said, surprised to see Draco’s face looking imperiously back at her, a small smile of pride tugging at his mouth and sparkling in his eyes.

“Reformed Death Eater Rescues Princess of Peace” the headline read. Hermione looked over the top of the paper at the real Draco sitting next to her. He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, but one corner of his mouth turned up in that smug way she had come to adore. She went back to the story, reading it quickly. When she reached the end, she set the paper down and looked at Draco incredulously.

“This was written by Rita?” she asked.

“Obviously,” Draco said, drily. Hermione appreciated that he was making an effort not to treat her so delicately.

“She interviewed you? When?” Hermione could not believe any of it. She had only been asleep for three days. How much had she missed?

“Two days ago. Mother arranged it,” Draco said. “I wish you could have seen the look on Rita’s face while mother stood over her shoulder and edited her notes.” Draco had a smug look on his face. Hermione shared the sentiment and wished she hadn’t chosen to let life pass her by while she dreamed of things that only existed beyond the physical plane.

“How…? But what about...?” She couldn’t formulate the question she wanted to ask, her mind was moving in a million different directions.

“She’s actually done a series of articles on the event,” Draco said. “All of them complimentary, one of them featuring Weasley.” Draco said it casually, but she could see him watching her reaction.

“That’s…,” Hermione took a deep breath and forced her mind to calm and pick one direction, “That’s good, surely. For all of you?” Hermione asked, questioningly.

“Yes, of course,” Draco said, dismissively, “But as to how much good it can do, only time will tell.”

“But,” Hermione said, feeling a growing excitement, “surely now the rest of the wizarding world can see what I see. Maybe…” but she hardly dared to hope that the tide of public opinion could change with a single article, even one in the Daily Prophet.

“Maybe,” Draco echoed.

Hermione turned her attention to the plate in front of her, feeling ravenous now that she was fully awake. They passed the next fifteen minutes finishing breakfast and chatting about the interview with Rita.

Draco and Hermione walked up a grand staircase, intending to go to Draco’s bedroom. Hermione desperately wanted a shower and some fresh clothes, but when they reached the landing, Draco pulled her in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” she asked, curious.

“Must you always know everything?” Draco said.

Hermione huffed at the teasing and Draco chuckled. Hermione smiled despite herself—she missed his laugh.

Draco opened a door, and Hermione was surprised as Draco led her into a small linen closet and closed the door behind them. There was a bit of light coming from somewhere, but Hermione didn’t have time to find the source before Draco pinned her to the wall. She felt his lips graze her cheek, his breath warm as he whispered in her ear.

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes, I already—” she breathed in sharply as Draco planted the ghost of a kiss on her neck.

“I’m not,” he breathed, between kisses that trailed down her neck. She shivered. What did he mean? Her mind tried to focus on his words but her body wasn’t interested. “Don’t leave me like that again,” he said. “Please.”

“I…” she felt his hands slide over her hips and push their way beneath her jumper, “I won’t,” she said, not caring that she had no real way of knowing she could keep that promise. His hands moved steadily up her torso, pushing her bra upward, and she felt the coarse fabric of the jumper grazing her already peaked breasts.

“I need you,” he said, just before he covered her breast with the heat of his mouth. He stroked the other with his thumb and Hermione felt herself melting into him.

For days she had felt isolated, locked in the empty shell of her body, unable to connect to anything. She had drifted in and out of sleep, only to wake and find herself tossed about by the tumultuous feelings of grief threatening to capsize her. But right now, she felt anchored in Draco’s embrace. His mouth rekindled a joy she thought herself incapable of feeling.

She pulled off the jumper and her bra, tossing them on the floor. Then, she unfastened her jeans, pushing them down as far as she could without detaching Draco. He unlatched and the cool air pinched at her nipple, contracting it further.

Hermione leaned into the wall, catching her breath as the rest of their clothing disappeared. She felt Draco’s hands push her shoulders into the wall, his chest barely touching hers, his organ trying to find shelter between her legs. He kissed her as if he were trying to consume her very soul, so that he might never be without her again. Hermione closed her eyes and she could see small bursts of light reminding her to breathe.

It had only been a week since they’d last been together, but it felt like a lifetime ago. And in some ways it was—it was the “before,” the loss marking a divide in her life that would color everything that came after.

Draco turned her around and locked one arm around her, pulling her back against his chest, and she was pleased to find that even after everything, his touch could light a fire in her that burned through all the nonsense in her head. His cock pushed its way between her legs content, for now, to simply rest between her thighs. He kissed her shoulder as he reached around, fingers dancing over the silken curls before gently parting the curtain of hair covering the most sensitive part of her. She was surprised how easily his finger slid between her folds. Draco became more daring, encouraged by her body’s response.

His hand worked between her legs, moving at first gently, then more firmly. And then he pushed his way into her slowly, meaning, no doubt, to give her the chance to call out any pain before it was too intense. But there was none. Only pleasure. And she leaned against him, letting her body grow heavy with it. He turned all his attention back to the sensitive bundle of nerves and she felt her body burst with an orgasm so strong that it broke through every last vestige of detachment, grounding her to the here and now.

And then he was inside her. She wanted more of him. She wanted all of him. She wanted him to break through the wall that had been shakily erected between them. Hermione braced her hands against the wall and leaned forward just enough to allow him to slide into the depths of the channel that could herald both life and death. The little death, a small laugh escaped her throat as she forced her thoughts away from the grave that called to her even now.

Draco made a noise of utter satisfaction and began moving slowly inside her. She could feel a bright white flame growing inside her womb, purifying the sacred chamber that one day might grow life again. Was it part of the potion’s magic or was it their own? She didn’t care which, another orgasm was pushing through all coherent thought until she let go, her muscles spasming around Draco, who was already pulling out after his own release.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding on as mind and soul drifted somewhere in the heavens. She felt bliss and wondered why she had ever thought her pain was inescapable, wondering why she had ever felt separate from him. Draco’s arms relaxed and she settled back into herself.

“Are you okay, love?” Draco asked, kissing her forehead.

“Hmmm?” she said, dreamily. “Yes. I’m sorry,” she said, “for drawing into myself and leaving you…” she felt tears welling up. Great. She supposed she would have to accept them, finally. Certainly, she wouldn’t cry any less after everything that had happened.

“Don’t apologize, love,” he said. “You did what you needed to do.” He handed her the discarded jeans and she began to get dressed. “But you do know…” Draco paused, whether to find his words or his own clothes, Hermione wasn’t sure. “You know,” he resumed, “that I can hold your pain? You don’t have to do everything by yourself. I’m here.”

She did know, but she was discovering that letting go was a process, that she had only been slowly releasing her grip until finally, she had to accept that she couldn’t control anything and she didn’t need to have all the answers. She pulled on the rest of her clothes, a realization growing that Draco was not testing her or putting her through a trial evaluation. She had nothing to prove and thus, she was finally free to just be, to allow herself to be seen in all her glory AND all her brokenness. He didn’t expect perfection, he didn’t want perfection. He wanted her to show up just as she was.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I know. I love you.”

He kissed her, then grabbed her hand.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her away from the door. She had thought he’d brought her into the closet for a quick shag, finally, but no. He was pushing against the back wall, which slid open and revealed a small room—marble walls reflecting the light in dancing blue waves as if they were under water, the cool stone beneath her feet doing nothing to dispel the illusion. On one wall, the source of the blue light glowed from the insides of something standing on a pedestal.

“A pensieve?” Hermione asked as they drew near. She didn’t think they were very common, but, of course, she couldn’t be surprised that the Malfoys would own such a rare magical object.

“Yes,” was all Draco said. The circular column on which the pensive was perched was encased in glass and Hermione could see vials upon vials of memories, most likely protected by strong magic. Draco held his wand to his temple, and Hermione watched as he pulled a silvery strand and dropped it into the swirling liquid, no, not a liquid, how did one describe the texture of a memory? “Did you hear me, love?” he said.

“Sorry, no,” she admitted, snapping out of her contemplations.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said.

“Dray—” she started to protest, remembering the last time she had plunged into his memories.

“Trust me,” he said with so much authority that she automatically compiled. Of course, she trusted him absolutely, and she knew that she could face anything as long as he was by her side.

“Alright, then,” she said, grasping at the courage that didn’t seem to be readily available at this moment.

But then she was leaning over the pensieve, Draco’s hand in hers, and it was rather like jumping into the Black Lake without first taking a breath. For a moment, she felt disoriented, but Draco squeezed her hand and the scene around them began to take shape.

They were in Hogsmeade, standing at the end of the lane that led to the Three Broomsticks. How strange to be able to view a memory from a different vantage point. She supposed that was the draw of a pensieve—the ability to see from a new perspective.

She watched the scene unfold the way she remembered: Ron standing at the far end of the lane, Pansy shouting Hermione’s name. But this time Hermione could see Nott Sr. stepping out of the alley between Ron and where she and Draco stood, and from this view, it was clear that the body bind curse was meant for her, not Draco. But that would mean…

Everything happened quickly, Draco fell to the ground, Pansy shot a counter curse at Nott Sr. then freed Draco who watched helplessly as Hermione flew into the wall. And from here she could see that the spell had hit her in the chest, some of its impact absorbed by the emerald she often forgot was there around her neck. She felt the pain of the wall all over again, and Draco squeezed her hand reassuringly as she shivered. But she wondered how much worse the damage could have been if she hadn’t been wearing the necklace. Draco turned and ran to her just as Ron disarmed Nott, then sent ropes flying around him, bringing the Death Eater to his knees.

“You’ll pay, Malfoy!” Nott Sr. screamed. “Your father is a coward! We’ll just see how he feels about losing the thing he loves most!” Nott threw himself forward, one hand reaching out for the wand that was inches away from his hand. “You—” but Pansy silenced him, and then Ron immobilized him. For a moment, Ron stood over the man, looking him over coldly. Something unspoken passed between Ron and Pansy, and then everything began to fade.

They were back in the room behind the closet. Draco stood looking at Hermione as if assessing her reaction.

“Nott Sr.,” she said, the thought crystallizing in her mind and settling a million pieces into place so that she could see it all clearly. “He was after you, not me.”

Draco nodded.

“This whole time?” she wondered.

“Apparently,” Draco confirmed. “He was given Veritaserum at Hogwarts and he confessed to hunting me down as revenge against my father’s betrayal.” Draco laughed derisively. “So you see, this is all my fault. Your injuries, what happened to...to Lyra…” and even in the dark, she could see the glint of a tear fall down his cheek though Draco gave no other indication of his feelings.

“Oh, Dray!” She pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s not your fault! None of this is your fault. None of it ever was. We all failed to see things and made choices that led us here. Nott Sr. is the only one to blame for what happened.”

She felt Draco shake in her arms and warm tears spilled down her neck—whether her own or from Draco who was pressed tight against her, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Draco’s arms tightened around her and she just held on.

“I’m sorry, Em,” he said, voice cracking slightly.

“Don’t be,” she said. “You have nothing to apologize for. I mean it. I won’t allow you to blame yourself for this. Don’t make me obliviate you,” she threatened, and they both laughed.

They stood there for a moment more, then she kissed Draco and led him out of the room, giving him a moment to compose himself as he trailed behind her. When they left the closet, the moment was over and they walked away feeling slightly lighter than they had been when they walked into the closet.

“Unbelievable,” Draco said, slamming the bedroom door a couple of hours later.

Hermione had freshened up then decided to keep her mind busy by continuing her translation of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She looked up from where she was working at his desk.

“What’s wrong?” she said, setting down her quill and stretching her cramped fingers, which were covered with ink.

“What’s wrong is that…” he hesitated, pausing in his pacing to look at her. Hermione could see him making a decision. “My father is returning tomorrow. The Ministry is freeing him as promised now that the remaining Death Eaters have been captured.”

Hermione stared at him silently, giving him space to vent his feelings. She knew there was more he wanted to say, even if he didn’t always give in to the impulse to share his thoughts.

“I suppose that’s just fine with you!” he shouted, and she stared, taken aback by his anger. “Shall I arrange for tea so you and father can have a pleasant little chat about how you are shagging the heir to the Malfoy estate?”

She stood, bristling at the flash of the old Draco that surfaced in response to his father’s judgment. She made her way to where he was standing imperiously. She wasn’t going to let him keep playing into those old patterns, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to speak to her that way.

“Oh yes, please do, darling,” she said silkily. She enjoyed the look of confusion that broke through Draco’s anger. Good, she was getting somewhere. “I’ll tell him all about how he narrowly avoided having a half-blood for a granddaughter, shall I?”

Draco’s face paled. “Em,” he said, snapping out of his foul mood. “Em, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

“Don’t do it again,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I know you have your issues with your father, but I’m on your side, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Draco said, taking her hands in his and kissing her fingers.

“I forgive you,” she said, “...this time.”

By the time Hermione had joined Narcissa for afternoon tea in the garden room, Hermione was quite relieved for the excuse to leave Draco to his own devices. As the hours had passed, Draco grew more tightly wound, like a coil ready to spring.

“I expect Draco will have told you the news?” Narcissa said, her teacup poised to drink.

“Well,” Hermione said, unsure of whether or not he was meant to have told her, “it didn’t seem as if he wanted to, but yes.”

Narcissa had taken a sip and set her cup on the saucer she held in her left hand.

“I hardly expect for him to have kept it a secret,” Narcissa said, matter-of-factly. She must have seen Hermione’s confusion, because she continued, “Darling, it doesn’t do to keep secrets. Or at least, not the kind that holds back information that affects you both.”

Hermione wondered what kind of secrets Narcissa deemed fit to keep to herself.

Narcissa pressed on, “Are you well?” Her voice was softer. She lifted the cup to her lips again and sipped, never taking her eyes off Hermione.

“Yes, quite well, thank you,” Hermione said. She took a sip and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the hot, milky liquid sliding down her throat and spreading through her body. It was strange to feel everything so acutely as if the numbness had worn off only to give way to the sensation of a thousand pinpricks.

“There is a small matter I’d like to discuss with you,” Narcissa said.

“Oh?” Hermione said, kicking herself for allowing her surprise to come through so clearly. She took another drink of tea, at a loss for what to say next.

“Surely you will have noticed Draco’s...how shall I say, lack of excitement for his father’s return?”

“Erm, well, yes,” Hermione replied. It hadn’t been a question, and there was no use trying to deny it. Hermione suspected Narcissa didn’t need to rely on legilimency to spot the truth of a situation. It was part of what made the woman so formidable.

“Miss Granger, you would do well not to hedge,” Narcissa scolded, “If you can’t stand behind your own words, how do you expect anyone else to take you seriously?” She raised her brows, and Hermione blushed. The more time she spent with Narcissa, the more she understood Draco and his demeanor. She had once thought him arrogant, but perhaps that hadn’t been quite fair, all things considered.

“Yes, of course. I understand,” Hermione said.

“As I was saying,” Narcissa said, picking up a small plate of biscuits and offering them to Hermione in a gesture of goodwill, “I require your assistance tomorrow. As you may already know, Malfoy men can be quite stuck in their ways. If not gently persuaded to a more reasonable point of view, well, I’m afraid we would likely have perished generations ago. It is time you begin your education.”

Hermione sat up straighter. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to be a model student. She nodded and awaited Narcissa’s instruction. Narcissa smiled, pleased with the response.

“You see, Draco is under the impression that his father is a coward who sold his son to Voldemort,” and here Hermione saw an almost imperceptible shudder run through Narcissa’s body as she said the name that had likely never crossed her lips while under his servitude, “in order to save his own skin. You may be inclined to agree, but I assure you that is not the case.”

“I know,” Hermione said.

“Do you?” Narcissa said, allowing the surprise to show.

“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to take Narcissa’s advice and be more direct, “I saw his expression when Draco volunteered himself.” Hermione remembered the awful dream walking experience she’d had in December and felt a chill run through her.

“I see,” Narcissa said, choosing not to ask questions. “I trust you are also well aware of the anguish it causes Draco to feel the loss of the father he once adored.”

“Yes, I am,” Hermione said, softly. It broke her heart to know how it pained Draco. She thought of her own father and felt her fractured heart split further.

“You must find a way for him to see the truth, then. It is the only way he will find peace,” Narcissa said.

“But how can I possibly change his mind about this?” Hermione said, shocked. Narcissa surely overestimated her influence on Draco.

“You are an intelligent witch,” Narcissa said. “I trust you will find a way.”

“I will certainly try,” Hermione said.

“Do,” Narcissa replied, setting her empty teacup on the tea tray before them. “And rest assured, I will be sure to prepare Lucius for your presence at the dinner table tomorrow evening, where I expect you both to join us.”

“I...yes, of course,” Hermione said, “thank you.” Her head was spinning.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Narcissa said, standing, “I must make the final arrangements for tomorrow.” She nodded and walked out of the room, leaving Hermione to contemplate all that had just happened and feel the anxiety increase as she wondered how she would rise to the considerable challenge.

“Em,” Draco said, as they lay in bed that night, “are we okay?”

Draco turned on his side, facing her, and though she could only see his silhouette in the dark, she could feel his fingers well enough, gently tracing a path across her jaw, then sliding softly from her shoulder down to her wrist. His touch was like a balm, and she felt herself simultaneously release her worries and open herself to him.

“Yes, Dray,” she said, “we are okay.”

Draco didn’t waste any time. He was above her, pressing his lips to hers like a parched man whose thirst could never be sated. He pushed up the Falcons shirt she had worn to bed and slid into her with little resistance.

More. She wanted more of him. Hermione pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor, then wrapped her arms around Draco pulling him close. His skin burned against hers and the ring she had forgotten she wore around her neck pressed sharply into her chest. She gasped, letting her legs widen so she could take in the full length of him.

“Harder!” she cried, and he complied. The mild physical pain made her forget the feeling of the jagged pieces of her heart pressing into her chest. No, it was only the ring. Draco bit her earlobe and then her neck. “Godric, yes,” she said, one part of her brain wondering if he had actually drawn blood, though she hardly cared. She only knew pleasure as it built and then burst in an orgasm that had her digging her nails into his back as she held on, certain she would be pulled under otherwise.

And before the last tremors stopped running through her, she felt the cool air on her skin as he pulled away with a rough kiss on the mouth. She didn’t care where he was going, choosing, instead, to let her limbs grow heavy and drift into a deep sleep.

~~~

_They were at the Burrow. She sat at a small table under a tree, sipping a cold drink, ice clinking in the glass as she brought it to her lips._

_“Good to see them on broomsticks again,” Molly said to her._

_“It is, isn’t it?” Hermione replied, a smile spreading across her lips._

_“And good to see you happy again, dear,” Molly said._

_Hermione set the glass down and tore her eyes away from the figures zooming through the air over the field just beyond the low stone wall and looked at Molly. Hermione blinked, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek._

_“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said. Molly reached out and patted Hermione’s hand in a motherly way, and more tears escaped._

_“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Hermione heard Pansy’s voice. “What is it now?” Pansy sat down in the chair between Molly and Hermione._

_“Never you mind, Pansy,” Molly scolded. Pansy’s lips compressed in annoyance, eyes narrowing in a convergence of dark lashes, but Pansy held her tongue. Hermione laughed and Pansy glared at her as Molly excused herself from the table._

_“Think this is funny, do you?” Pansy said in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Draco._

_“I think,” Hermione said, looking around, “this whole thing is absurd, actually.”_

_“You said—” Pansy began, but Hermione interrupted._

_“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” Hermione explained. “I only meant that I never would have guessed.”_

_“Well,” Pansy sniffed, “you’re not the only one who can keep secrets.”_

_“Oh?” Hermione said, trying to lighten Pansy’s mood. “And what other secrets are you keeping?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Pansy said, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smirk. Pansy took a sip of her water, never taking her eyes off Hermione, and she felt her skin prickle beneath Pansy’s look._

_“Erm,” Hermione squirmed._

_“Lighten up, Granger,” Pansy said, laughing, finally. “You’re too easy.”_

_“You wish,” Hermione said, channeling Ginny. But Pansy’s eyes grew wide. Hermione replayed the words she’d just said and wished she could take them back._

_“That lying arsehole,” Pansy said, setting her glass down forcefully enough that the water sloshed over the edge leaving a puddle of water on the wooden table. “He told me he wouldn’t say anything.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Hermione said, confused._

_“Oh, come off it, princess,” Pansy shot back, “you know bloody well what I’m talking about. I’m sure Draco outed me the first chance he could. As if I were ever any real threat. Wait until I get in cursing distance.” She was talking more to herself now than to Hermione._

_“Pansy,” Hermione said, trying and failing to understand, “Draco never—”_

_But just then Ron flew by and jumped off his broom with a flourish, kissing Pansy on the cheek._

_“Ron!” Pansy said, lighting up, their disagreement forgotten, at least, for the moment. “You were amazing. Maybe later you can give me a ride.”_

_“Can you not?” Ginny said, hopping off her broom. “Some of us would like to keep our lunch down.”_

_Pansy grasped a handful of Ron’s shirt and pulled him into a passionate kiss that had Ginny rolling her eyes and turning away._

_“Let’s go, Hermione, before they start shagging right here on the lawn,” Ginny said in disgust. Hermione laughed. She had already forgotten what she and Pansy had been talking about._

~~~

Narcissa had not joined them for morning tea the next day, choosing, instead, to make the final arrangements, whatever those were, for the return of Lucius.

Hermione could see the tension in Draco’s stiff posture as he drank his tea absently.

“Dray—” Hermione started. But just then the fireplace roared to life, green flames giving way to Blaise, then Theo, and finally Pansy.

Draco stared at them.

“Well, don’t bother yourself to get up on our account,” teased Blaise.

“You said he was expecting us,” Theo shot at Pansy.

“What I said, Theodore,” Pansy retorted, “was that it was expected for us to visit. We are his best friends, remember?”

“Right, mate,” Blaise joined in. “Since when do we need an invitation to visit?”

“Since always?” Theo said, shaking his head and giving up.

Hermione stood up and Blaise gave her a crushing hug, which she returned with a pat as she tried to catch her breath.

“Ease up, you complete arse,” Theo said, pulling Blaise off of Hermione.

“She’s not made of glass, mate, relax,” Blaise said, casually.

“That’s true,” Hermione said, “but thank you,” she said to Theo who opted to kiss her hand in a show of gentlemanly manners that was no doubt done as much for Blaise’s benefit as Hermione’s.

“Boys,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes before pulling Hermione into a full hug and holding onto her for a moment. “How are you, darling?” Pansy said into Hermione’s ear, leaning back and searching Hermione’s face for an answer as Blaise and Theo moved their attention to Draco, who had broken into an easy smile.

“As well as can be expected,” Hermione said. “Better, actually,” she said, rethinking it. The wisps of the heavy depression she’d been draped in still clung to her, but it was no longer suffocating.

“We all visited the hospital wing, you know,” Pansy said. “In fact, there were so many of us in there at one point that Madam Pomfrey kicked us out. Draco wasn’t handling it very well, you know.”

“Well, thank you for being there for him,” Hermione said.

Pansy knitted her brows and narrowed her eyes, giving Hermione a curious look. “We weren’t there just for him, you know.” Pansy raised her dark brows in emphasis and the corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk that Hermione decided must be taught to every first year Slytherin. Hermione tried to recall the conversation they’d had in her dream the night before, but she couldn’t quite remember it.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, returning to the moment. She put her hand on Pansy’s arm as she leaned over to place a kiss on Pansy’s cheek. Pansy’s eyes widened and Hermione enjoyed her ability to occasionally surprise the perpetually jaded Slytherin in front of her.

Pansy regained control of her features and shrugged.

“Draco, darling,” Pansy said, interrupting Blaise’s comment to give Draco her standard air kiss on each cheek.

“Parkinson,” Draco said, nodding.

“So,” Pansy said, “Daddy is coming home today, is he? Shall we stay for dinner?”

“Seriously, Pansy?” Theo scolded.

“What? I’m just trying to offer moral support. Isn’t that what friends do?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Thank you, Pansy,” Draco said, and Theo leaned back in his chair. “But that won’t be required.”

“Suit yourself,” Pansy said, helping herself to a ginger biscuit and sitting next to Hermione on the small sofa. Hermione shifted a bit to give Pansy space, but Pansy only leaned into Hermione, looping an arm through hers. Draco narrowed his eyes, but Pansy only ignored him.

“So,” Theo said, turning to Hermione, “how are you?”  
“Oh, well…,” she started, but before she could go on, an ear-piercing noise sounded.

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Blaise asked.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone at all,” Draco said drily as he stood.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said, following Draco out of the room. She wished that noise would go away already.

“What happened?” Hermione shouted over the noise, catching up to Draco as they made their way to the front door.

“Someone has tried to apparate onto the grounds,” Draco said, silencing the alarm. “Any idea who?”

“How should I know?” she said.

“Are you telling me you didn’t send an owl to those three?” Draco said, nodding in the direction from which they’d come.

“I’m telling you that I don’t know who set off your wards,” Hermione said, refusing to answer. She had, in fact, sent an owl to Pansy the previous day, hoping that their presence might help Draco relax a bit. It seemed to be working, so she didn’t feel bad about not telling him before.

“Right,” Draco said, opening the door. They walked down the path and toward the gates.

“I told you this wouldn’t work!” Hermione heard a familiar voice say. “This was a bad idea.”

“Oh, stuff it, Ron,” came Ginny’s voice. “We’re here, and don’t even think about leaving now.”

“Come on, mate,” Harry said, just as Draco and Hermione walked through the gates to find the trio who now turned to look at them.

“Hermione!” Ginny shouted, pulling Hermione into a hug.

“Hi,” Hermione said, surprised but unable to hold back a smile. She hadn’t actually known they were coming.

“Is there a party I’m unaware of?” Draco said.

“Come off it, Malfoy,” Harry said. “We’ve decided that one week is long enough and now we want to check in on our friend.”

“Well,” Draco said, shaking Harry’s outstretched hand, “you may as well come in. All of you,” Draco added, glancing in Ron’s direction, though without the usual disdain.

Ginny slipped her hand into Harry’s and the three of them followed Draco and Hermione through the gates and into the house.

“Are we having a party?” Pansy said, spotting the group.

Ron turned bright red and Hermione wondered if there was something to the dream she’d had the night before.

“No, we are not,” Draco said.

“Oh, come on, darling,” Pansy said. “You’re no fun. Remember when—”

“Pansy,” Theo interrupted, “why don’t you show Ron the garden. I’m sure you remember your way around just fine.”

“With pleasure,” Pansy said, looping her arm through Ron’s and taking him outside.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Draco said as if he’d given up trying to guess.

“Just thought you’d have a nicer tea selection than I do,” Harry said, drily.

“What he means,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes, “is that we wanted to check in on the two of you.”

Ginny took a seat next to Hermione, putting her arm around Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione leaned into her gratefully. It was nice to have friends who cared.

“Still alive, as you can see,” Draco said.

“Obviously,” Ginny said before Hermione could scold Draco for his ungracious behavior. “And clearly your usual manners haven’t suffered at all.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, “are you alright after....everything?”

Hermione could see the concern etched in his features, could hear it in his voice even if she hadn’t been able to see him. She realized they must know about Lyra.

“Sad, but healing,” Hermione said, sneaking a glance at Draco who looked more ill-at-ease by the minute. “It could have been a lot worse if Draco, Ron, and Pansy hadn’t been there.”

“Yes, well, Rita covered that quite well,” Ginny said. “It’s like Witch Weekly all over again.” Ginny laughed. “Although, Ron doesn’t seem to have as much interest in his fan mail lately. In fact,” she continued, “he’s been getting quite a lot of owl post from—”

“Ginny,” Harry interrupted, ignoring the glare Ginny shot at him, “I don’t think Hermione cares about Ron’s post.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, an idea coming to her. “You don’t happen to have a few broomsticks tucked away somewhere, do you?”

“A few?” Blaise said, laughing. “He has enough broomsticks to host a Quidditch match on the grounds.”

Hermione waited.

“Do you?” Harry said, surprised. “Well, of course, you would,” he said, trying and failing to sound less eager. “I haven’t been on a broom in ages, have you?” Harry was looking directly at Draco now. Hermione smiled.

“It’s been a few weeks since I was on the pitch with the Gryffindor team,” Draco admitted. Hermione could see a look of longing on his face.

“Well, what are we sitting around here for?” Blaise said. “Let’s go!” Then he stood up and waited for the others to follow. For a moment, Hermione wasn’t sure they would, but then Draco spoke.

“Why in bloody hell not?” Draco said.

“That’s the spirit,” Harry said.

And they left the room through the french doors that opened into the garden.

“What are we doing?” Draco asked Hermione as he led them to a small stone building across the lawn.

Hermione laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand, “We’re living,” she said, a reminder to herself as much as a statement to him. “A part of us may have died that day,” she felt a hot tear slide down her cheek but forced her voice to remain steady, “but we are still here, and as long as we live, so does she.”

Hermione felt the blinding depression of the last week began to lift a little, and though her heart was heavy she knew that she could no longer anchor herself to a moment in the past; there was still so much life to live.

Their tears were dry by the time they reached the broomsticks. Pansy and Ron had joined them along the way and all but Pansy and Hermione played. It wasn’t enough for a real game, but it was more than enough for them to forget about everything else.

Pansy and Hermione chatted easily, sitting side by side in the grass.

“Are you ready to meet daddy dearest?” Pansy said, after a short lull. Pansy’s eyes were curious, playful, but not unkind.

Hermione frowned. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be perfectly honest,” Hermione answered.

“Can I give you some advice?” Pansy asked, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. She had a shrewd look on her face as if she were assessing Hermione’s willingness to hear a difficult truth.

“By all means,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“Don’t let on that you’re intimidated by him,” Pansy said, “He feeds on that shit. Just smile and be yourself, it’ll really throw him.”

“Do you think he will ever accept me?” Hermione asked.

“You don’t need him to,” Pansy said, simply. “You’re better than his narrow little mind will ever be able to understand. One day he may come around. Until then, you can be sure Narcissa will keep him in line.”

“Thank you for that,” Hermione said, smiling. They turned toward the group and sat in companionable silence for a stretch.

By the time Draco caught the snitch, they were all a bit more lighthearted. And Hermione suddenly understood that finding joy in the midst of trying times doesn’t mean you must be joyful about the circumstances of your situation, but instead that you can find moments of happiness and peace that continue to exist even while your heart is breaking and reconstructing itself from the shattered pieces that remain. Deep sorrow and deep gratitude could co-exist like the sun shining through the rain, creating a promise that no storm lasts forever.

“Let’s just go to your house right now and skip dinner,” Draco said to Hermione later that afternoon.

Everyone had left that afternoon smiling and taking turns hugging Hermione. Lucius and Narcissa had returned earlier, but they wouldn’t see either of them until dinner. Hermione could see the storm clouds gathering behind Draco’s grey eyes, and she was certain lightning would strike uncomfortably close if she didn’t intervene.

“Yes,” Hermione said, patiently, “besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother, would you?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve been spending too much time with Slytherins, Granger.”

“Back to Granger, are we?” Hermione said, but she couldn’t hold back a smile. “Do you know,” she said, closing the distance between them, “I was thinking we could make a quick trip back to the linen closet.” She saw a spark of interest break through the gloom. “Perhaps,” she said, reaching up to his face and caressing his cheek as she slid her hand into his ashen locks, “we can have a repeat of the other day.”

Hermione pulled him into a kiss. For a moment, he seemed to be contemplating her invitation. But then he slid his arms around her and pulled her closer. Hermione almost forgot what she had been saying, but that nagging voice in her head reminded her that she had better do first things first, and she pulled away with a sigh.

“The linen closet,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him out the door and down the corridor to the closet.

But when he closed the door behind them, she kept pulling.

“Granger, we are already in the closet,” he said, his voice filling with suspicion.

“Since we are here, I thought we could just do one quick thing first,” she said, her voice growing more high-pitched with guilt. She led him into the small room with the pensieve.

“You little minx,” Draco said, but he sounded impressed.

“Dray,” she said when they reached the dais, “there’s something I really think you should see.” Hermione brought her wand to her temple and extracted a wispy memory, which she released into the bowl.

“Let’s see it then, shall we?” he said, choosing to trust her.

Hermione kissed him, and then they peered into the memory.

They landed right in the middle of a ring of Death Eaters.

“What in bloody hell do you mean by this?” Draco said. Hermione caught a note of panic in his voice and squeezed his hand.

“Dray, please,” she said. “I know how you feel about what happened that night, but I saw something when you forced me into your dream.” That seemed to settle him a bit, resign him to the fate that he surely had coming his way after he had dragged her into his memories with hardly a warning.

Voldemort was threatening Lucius.

“You have to watch your father’s face,” Hermione said. “Don’t look away, not for an instant. Trust me.” Draco looked at his father, his expression hardened yet curious.

The memory-Draco stepped in and offered his service in place of his father’s, making the promise that would set the entire war into inevitable motion. Hermione saw the pained expression on Lucius’s face. Everyone else was watching Draco, except Narcissa who stood behind him looking to her husband to share the feeling that must surely be trying to break through her regal facade.

Then it was over and they were standing in the closet once more.

“He would have died for you, you know,” Hermione whispered, not sure why she was defending that man except for the fact that the one in front of her right now needed it.

“So, I should just forgive him for everything he did?” Draco said.

“Well, no, of course not,” Hermione said, “But maybe you can forgive him the things he didn’t actually do.”

Draco was silent.

“I will be civil at dinner,” Draco conceded. “But he will have to earn my trust.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. They walked away from the pensieve, the eerie lights dancing on the walls, and entered the darkened linen closet.

Draco grabbed Hermione’s upper arm and pulled her to a stop.

“I hope you aren’t planning to just walk out of here after that little stunt,” he said, pulling her close.

Her breath caught. “We really should be getting ready for dinner,” she said, even though she hadn’t intended to walk out.

“Is that the only reason you brought me in here?” he said, his grip on her arm tightened and pulled her up against him. “That was a clever little trick you played,” he hissed in her ear as his free hand reached up beneath her skirt and ripped off her knickers.

“I…” she searched for words, but all she could think of was that he still hadn’t loosened his grip and despite the mild discomfort she now felt, she was fully prepared to follow through on the implied promise.

He walked around her, still holding her upper arm, “What shall we do with you?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. He grasped her other arm, then slid his hands down, pulling her arms together behind her back. She felt something silky slither between her wrists.

“Draco,” she asked, as the silk bound her wrists together, “what are you doing?” She pulled at the bindings, they were loose, but secure enough that it would take some effort to free herself.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied as if she had asked him what he wanted to have for dinner. He stood in front of her and she felt the tip of his wand touch her chin.

“Draco,” she said, feeling her heat rise. She stopped struggling against the ties.

“Shh,” he said, placing a cool finger over her lips. His wand traced a path down her throat. She felt her shirt splitting where his wand continued its path down her chest until the last thread came apart and the cool air rushed over her bare breasts.

His warm mouth pressed into the hollow of her throat. He kissed a path across her collarbone and hummed a note of pleasure.

“That’s better,” he said. She felt his mouth on her breast and then he bit down, pulling her nipple between his teeth. She sucked in air, refusing to yelp in pain. “She learns,” he said, pleased.

Hermione remained silent, body pulsing with anticipation. His mouth was back on her breast, flicking her nipple with his tongue and then suckling gently, the pain melting away and appearing as fluid between her legs. She pushed her pelvis into him, wanting friction, contact, anything, but he pulled away. A tiny whining noise escaped before she could catch herself.

“Oh no,” Draco said, “you don’t get to call the shots, love.” His index finger touched her shoulder, then slid down the length of her arm. She shivered.

“Are…” her voice trembled and she took a breath to steady it then resumed, “are you going to just tease me?”

“It is an option,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “However,” he stepped close, and Hermione heard him unzip his trousers, “that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as that hot little cunt of yours.”

And with that, he pushed into her, hands lifting her thighs to give him better access. Her shoulder blades pressed into the wall behind her, arms straining beneath the constraints. His chest grazed her nipples as he thrust into her, but he was careful to keep a bit of distance, still not wanting to give in to her all the way, though his cock was massaging her deliciously.

Every centimeter of her body was crying out for his touch but he was holding back. The contrast between the two sensations—one of yearning, one of fulfillment—was slowly driving her mad and she began pulling at the ties again, desperate to free herself and take control.

Draco put his hands on her hips and held her still, his cock filling her but now unmoving.

“Tsk, tsk,” he clucked, reprovingly. “Be still or I will put my trousers back on.” He kissed her throat and one thumb caressed her hip. “Surely you don’t want that.”

“No,” she said, taking her cue like the good girl she hated herself for wanting to be. Her body betrayed her senses and she only wanted to comply if that meant getting what she wanted, or near to, anyway.

He began moving again, slowly, and when his mouth closed over her areola, she sighed with relief. But soon it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she said, arching her back. He responded by using a hand to massage her clit. “More!” she said, desperate now.

“Tell me you won’t play any more games,” he said, bringing her ever closer to climax.

“I won’t,” she said, “not unless you want me to.”

“Granger,” he growled.

“Never,” she agreed, feeling helpless as the oncoming wave loomed near. The silk ties, loosened and slithered up one arm, circled around her neck, then down her spine where it fell to the floor. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her pelvis into him, reveling in the internal and external friction as she climaxed. She slid a hand up his back and into his hair, pulling gently as she spasmed around his cock, which was still pumping furiously. She let out a small cry and then he came inside her, grasping her arse roughly and pulling her tightly against him.

For a moment, they stayed that way as the aftershocks passed through them. If Hermione could have stayed in his arms all day, she would have. But the clock chimed and life beckoned. Draco lowered her gently to the ground.

“What will we do without this closet back in the castle?” Hermione laughed.

“Perhaps we should venture outdoors?” Draco suggested. Hermione thought of all the stories she’d heard about what happens on the shores of the Black Lake and was surprised to find herself entertaining the idea.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, and Draco laughed, no doubt surprised by the agreement as she had been.

Somehow, they had made it through the first course without incident. Lucius and Draco sat opposite each other at the ends of the table, Narcissa to the right of Lucius and Hermione to the right of Draco. It was somewhat awkward considering the length of the table, but it wasn’t as if they’d had to shout to speak to each other.

But somewhere near the middle of the main course, Lucius spoke up.

“So, Miss Granger,” Lucius said, in that silky voice that managed to grate on her nerves.

“Hermione, please,” she said as politely as she could manage.

“Hermione,” Lucius said with a smile as he cut his lamb into a bite-sized piece then speared it with his fork, “I’m told the Malfoy name is regaining some respect thanks to you, and to Draco, of course.” He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, then took a bite from his fork and chewed, looking from Hermione to Draco expectantly.

Hermione took a breath, but Draco spoke before she could get a word out.

“That’s right, Father,” Draco said, with so much venom it may as well have been a curse word. “We all owe her a debt of gratitude.”

“It seems you are doing well enough to pay that back,” Lucius quipped.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said, in a sweet voice that was nevertheless laced with warning. Hermione saw Narcissa squeeze his hand and Lucius’s eyes darted to his wife.

“Oh, yes, Father,” Draco said, “I know how to keep a woman happy. You begin by choosing your friends wisely and end by ensuring that the rest of your choices don’t leave your wife in her bed alone each night.”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Narcissa said, sharply. “How dare you speak to your father that way!”

Hermione set down her fork and slid her hand in Draco’s, silently urging him to be sensible. He squeezed back, then continued talking and Hemione closed her eyes and sighed.

“My apologies, Mother,” Draco said, sincerely. Narcissa merely pursed her lips.

“He isn’t wrong, darling,” Lucius said to Narcissa with such affection Hermione couldn’t help but stare at them wondering if Narcissa genuinely adored her husband even after everything he had put them through. Hermione absently touched the ring around her neck, and Lucius's eyes followed.

“So,” Lucius hissed, or perhaps Hermione only imagined the hiss, “the ring has found...you.” It was so polite, too polite.

“That’s right, Father,” Draco said, “just as it found Mother.”

“Don’t you dare compare your mother—”

“That’s enough!” Narcissa said, raising her voice in an uncharacteristic way. “I will not have this at my dinner table, nor anywhere else in my home.”

Both men looked at her, quelled by her anger, tongues bound by their love for her.

“Hermione, darling,” Narcissa said, sweetly, “I need hardly say that the entire Malfoy family is indebted to you for giving us a way back into polite society,” and here Narcissa’s gaze turned to Lucius, “after we knowingly lowered ourselves to stand with the filth that nearly cost us everything.” Her gaze settled on Draco, and she blinked rapidly and took a deep breath.

Narcissa stood, pulling Lucius up by the hand, “If you’ll excuse us, I’m not feeling quite well. I will bid you both goodnight.”

Hermione nodded.

“Goodnight, Mother,” Draco said. “Father,” he said, adding the curt acknowledgment as an afterthought.

Hermione and Draco sat in silence, listening to Narcissa’s heels click across the marble floor. The door closed gently behind Lucius and Hermione looked at Draco.

“That went rather well, I thought,” Draco said, picking up his fork again. Hermione stared incredulously. Was he joking? “Have you lost your appetite?” He asked with concern.

“No,” she said, “only, perhaps, my mind.” She wondered if she would ever truly understand the complexities of their family dynamic, and more importantly if she would ever learn to navigate it with grace. Some things, she supposed, only came with time and practice. She supposed she had a great many more things to learn from Narcissa, after all.

The next few days passed in strained cordiality, and finally, Draco and Hermione had to return to Hogwarts, choosing to use the Floo Network as they had done to travel to Malfoy Manor.

When they made it back to their respective rooms, deciding to unpack and give each other a moment of space, Hermione collapsed onto the bed, feeling as if she had been gone for years, when in fact it had only been days, only over a week. Still, it was like a lifetime ago.

Hermione heard a tapping at her window and wondered what could possibly be making that noise. She dragged herself off the bed and opened the window to allow a rather severe-looking horned owl to fly in and drop a bit of parchment over her. It flew out again as quickly as it had come in and she wondered who would be sending her post.

She unrolled the parchment and read.

_Miss Granger,_

_I do hope you find yourself recovered after the holiday. Please visit my office at your earliest convenience. I have important matters I’d like to discuss with you._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress Minvera McGonagall_

Hermione wondered what it could possibly mean, and felt her heart beat faster. She ought to just go now. Should she tell Draco first or just go? Maybe she’d be back before he ever missed her. But the thought of him returning to an empty room seemed unkind. Hermione sighed and made her way through the tapestry into his room.

She found Draco sitting on the sofa staring into the fireplace.

“Dray? She said, uncertainly.

“Em,” he said, breaking out of his reverie. “What is it, love? Have you finished unpacking already?”

“No, I haven’t even started,” she said, sitting next to him and sliding her arm around his waist. He kissed her forehead and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I would ask you the same thing,” she said, gently.

He reached into his pocket and pulled a vial that appeared to contain a memory. “My father gave it to me with a note.”

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

“No idea,” he said. She sat silently for a moment, then spoke.

“Are you going to find out?”

“Even if I wanted to, and I’m not sure I do, I don’t exactly have access to a pensieve,” he answered.

“Actually,” she said, pulling away and looking at him excitedly, “McGonagall’s asked me to visit her. Perhaps you can use the pensieve Dumbledore kept in there, assuming it’s still there, of course.”

“Right,” Draco said, “I suppose I’ll just waltz in there uninvited and demand to use a powerful magical object for personal gain.”

“I doubt she would mind, actually,” Hermione said, pulling him off the couch. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What?” Draco protested, “I said IF.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to view it.” She heard Draco sigh as they walked out the door.

The castle was surprisingly quiet. The Hogwarts Express must not yet have arrived. It was strange to be back here after everything that had happened. How was it that life just continued on in the same way it always did even though everything had changed? Time was unfeeling, wasn’t it? It just continued steadily forward with or without you, always acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Well, I guess this is where we turn back,” Draco said as they stood in front of the griffin that guarded the stairwell to the headmistress’s office.

“Nice try,” she said to him, then to the griffin, “The cat’s meow.”

“Seriously?” Draco said as the staircase began to move. Hermione just shrugged.

Just before they could knock at the door, they heard McGonagall’s voice.

“For the last time, Mr. Chapman,” McGonagall’s somewhat muffled voice said, “I do not require an assistant, and if you could please stop sending me those cards. It is very sweet, and also very inappropriate.”

The door opened and a seventh year student stepped out, ignoring Hermione and Draco completely to respond, “Well, you are the cat’s meow. I’m of age, and in a few months, I won’t be a student. Until then, Cherie.” He kissed McGonagall’s hand and Hermione almost thought she saw the hint of a blush on McGonagall’s cheeks.

“Off with you, then,” she said. Then to Hermione and Draco, “Well, come in.” There was a note of exasperation to her voice, but it clearly had nothing to do with their appearance, though surely Draco would use it as an excuse to take leave and avoid viewing the memory his father had given him.

“Is this a bad time?” Hermione asked, uncertain.

“No, no, it’s just as good as any other. How can I help you?”

“Erm, well, you said you wanted to see me?” Hermione said.

“Of course,” McGonagall said, and Hermione could see the usually stern woman regain her composure.

“Also, I was hoping you might allow Draco to use the pensieve while I was here,” Hermione continued.

“I can speak for myself,” Draco said under his breath. Then, loudly enough for McGonagall to hear, “I apologize for the imposition, Headmistress. It is of little consequence and I can leave the two of you to your conversation.”

Draco nodded and turned to leave, but McGonagall spoke, “It is no imposition at all. Please,” she gestured to the open cabinet on the other side of the office.

“Thank you,” Draco said with a note of surprise.

“Miss Granger, follow me,” McGonagall said to Hermione as Draco made his way to the pensieve. Reluctantly, Hermione imagined.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked, concerned, once they were sitting in two chairs near the fireplace.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” McGonagall said, kindly. Of course. Hermione realized the headmistress must be concerned about her health, given her state before the holiday.

“Yes,” Hermione said, with a small smile, “Madam Pomfrey tended to me quite well and Mrs. Malfoy gave me a potion that appears to have healed me completely.”

“That is wonderful, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, “but I’m much more concerned about your mental state. You have been through quite an ordeal. No one would fault you for opting to sit out N.E.W.T.s.”

“What?” Hermione said, surprised. The option hadn’t even crossed her mind. “No. No, thank you,” she caught herself, “It’s just that I’ve already studied so hard, and it’s so close and...and…” Hermione felt the thing she was hanging onto begin to slip away and her heart beat faster. She blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the panic attack that would surely follow if she allowed herself to get swept up in it.

“Breathe,” McGonagall said. Hermione did as instructed and after a few breaths began to feel calm again. “It was only an option, and you are certainly free to make your own choice.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I would prefer to continue with my studies if it’s all the same to you.”

“Naturally,” McGonagall said, “Still. If you need additional accommodations or if you have any concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Hermione felt a cool hand on her shoulder, and she felt herself relax a bit more.

“I will. Thank you again,” Hermione said, rising.

McGonagall smiled and waved goodbye as an owl flew through the window. They showed themselves out of her office and made their way back to the common room. Once they were through the door from the entrance hall, Hermione spoke.

“So…,” she began, “what was that all about?”

“Ladies first,” Draco said.

“Oh, now you’re going to be chivalrous?” she said.

“Aren’t I always?” he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk she couldn’t resist.

“Always?” she nettled.

They were at the top of the staircase, at the far end of the corridor with the suits of armor. Draco stopped and faced her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her close.

“Love, what was it?” he said, very serious now.

“She only wanted to make sure I was well enough to continue with my N.E.W.T.s studies,” Hermione told him.

“And are you?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” she asked. And then she began to wonder if he thought she was mentally unstable. If he still believed she was a fragile flower that couldn’t survive a harsh winter.

“An honest one,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. She supposed she shouldn’t make assumptions about what he thought of her. None of them were likely to be true. It was only her own self-critical voice saying those things. She really ought to be more kind to herself.

“Yes,” she finally said, “yes, I am. And anyway, I need to do this,” she said, resting her head on his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist. It was a lovely place to be, and she might have stayed there if a door closing below didn’t announce imminent interruption.

Hermione pulled back, stood on her toes, and gave him a chaste kiss. Anything more would only distract her, and she really wanted to get back to her room and soak in a hot bath.

“Come on, then,” Draco said. “Let’s get you in a hot bath and I’ll tell you everything.”

“A man of his word,” Hermione said, wondering how he always managed to speak directly to her thoughts. It was unsettling, but also a bit of a relief if she was honest with herself. It was lonely in her head and it felt nice to be understood.

They made their way upstairs without running into anyone, and as she began undressing, Draco began telling her about the memory. As he told her, she could see him beginning the process of letting go of the standards he’d held for a god and allowing his father to be an imperfect mortal man who made mistakes just like they all had. Life was too short, too uncertain to hold onto grudges and throw away opportunities to make amends with those you loved. Hermione didn’t care much for Lucius, but she cared about Draco, and if the repair of their relationship could bring him peace, then she would support it in whatever way she could. After all, hadn’t Draco done as much with Ron?

She closed her eyes and let the hot water melt away her worries. There would be things to contend with tomorrow—the whispers, the questions that would surely arise after the articles and the news of what had happened, the workload that was sure to double as they entered the final stretch before N.E.W.Ts—but right now she would enjoy a moment of bliss. And why not? This was life, a string of moments tied together by time, some happy others terrible. None of it constant. All anyone could do was take it one moment at a time because if you didn’t, you might miss out on the little pleasures that life still had to offer. And right now, those were the only things keeping her afloat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, dear readers, is where I will do my best to keep my weekly posting schedule as the next chapter is not quite complete. I promise to be timely and this story will be finished soon. I will post as quickly as I can, knowing that I may have to edit and improve chapters at a later time. Right now, I just want to focus on completing the story so I don't leave you wondering! Thank you for your understanding and patience! I'll be back next week, I hope!


	13. Late April 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, dear readers. Life in a time of a global pandemic is unpredictable and sometimes difficult. This chapter is a very short addition--a scene I had cut from the original April chapter in order to put the chapter out sooner. But it has been too long and so I am publishing these to hold you over until the May chapter is complete. I am working on it. I promise I haven't abandoned the story. Stay with me, we are nearing the end.

  


**Late April 1999**   


  


Hermione sat in the library studying just as she had done since they had returned from holiday, one day blurring indistinctly into the next just like the fine print of the text she could no longer read. She rubbed her weary eyes and let her shoulders slump. How long had she been sitting in this chair? She felt stiff and vaguely wondered if she might eventually just meld into the chair; at least then she might serve a purpose.

Hermione set down her quill and stretched her cramped hand. She was covered in ink, but it hardly mattered. She gazed unseeingly at the far wall lined with dusty volumes of books rarely opened. They felt kindred—books always had, but now they took on a new depth of kinship—once written with great promise and hope of shedding light into the world, they had somehow become irrelevant, forgotten. The rest of the world kept moving uncaringly forward while they sat on the shelf, collecting dust like a security blanket of ancient wisdom, thick binding attempting to cover signs of the withering neglect they suffered. A meaningless existence further injured by the indifference of time.

Hermione sighed. N.E.W.Ts were nearing, and she could hardly afford to slack off at this point, or else what was the point of coming back to Hogwarts? Draco’s face drifted to mind, but she batted the image away, wanting to focus on her studies. A small voice in her head wondered why it mattered. Why did any of it matter? N.E.W.Ts, the last year at Hogwarts, whatever ambitions she had started to form about working in the Ministry and making a difference? The books stared back at her, spines straightened with determined importance despite their circumstance. Hermione wished she could feel the spark of purpose once more, but she only felt barren as the womb that had healed and as broken as the heart that had not.

Her chest felt constricted, and suddenly she found it hard to draw breath. She blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the tears stinging her eyes. She took a deep breath and swallowed down the grief trying to claw its way out of her. Not today. Not now. If life had no meaning, she would have to create her own reason for existing, and that meant studying for N.E.W.Ts. She picked up her quill and began working again, darkness draping her heart in false apathy that allowed her to continue walking blindly past the monsters that would surely consume her if they caught sight of her. Hermione went back to the number chart in her Arithmancy book, finding comfort in the sterile numbers. And there she sat, in the cold comfort of the books and parchment which had once been her only friends.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Draco said.

“Hmm?” she said, quill continuing to scratch furiously on her parchment. She barely registered the scrape of a chair on the floor as Draco sat at their usual table in the library.

“Love,” Draco said, then when she didn’t reply, “Em, look at me.”

She tore her eyes away from the old book with thick pages and tiny words nearest to her and looked at Draco. Everything was blurry around the edges, and she forced herself to focus. When had Draco appeared there?

“Did you realize that dinner began fifteen minutes ago?” he asked.

“Did it?” she said, eyes darting back to her parchment. She had so much work to do if she was going to prepare for N.E.W.T.s.

“It did,” he said, following her gaze, “and you’ve already skipped lunch.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” she said, picking up her quill again. Draco snatched it out of her hand.

“Hey!” Hermione protested, “I need that.”

“Em, stop for one minute and listen to me,” Draco said.

“I am listening,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, you’re not,” Draco said, “You’re thinking about whether or not you can still finish your work on schedule after this interruption. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“When did you become such an obnoxious know-it-all?” Hermione said, refusing to give him the satisfaction of saying the words. She hated it when he was right.

“Been spending a bit too much time with you, it seems,” he said, raising a brow in challenge.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I should petrify you for that.”

“Funny you should choose that hex,” he said, “I suppose at least that way one appendage would still be useful to you.”

“As if I would go near you after you’ve interrupted and then insulted me,” she said, but they both knew she wasn’t angry.

Draco smirked. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “you should come to this side of the table and see the effect you’ve already had on me.”

“Do you think of anything else?” she asked.

“Do you?” he said.

“I was trying to,” she said, rising from her seat and walking around the table toward him, despite the verbal protest.

“Why bother when there are so many better things to do?” he asked, clearly satisfied that he had won.

She stood behind his chair, then leaned over, wrapping her arms around him and letting her lips brush his ear as she whispered, “Like have dinner?” she said. She let her tongue trail down his neck, planted a kiss, then pulled away. The prat. Now he could feel the irritation of incompletion.

He grabbed her wrist just before she released him from her embrace and she jerked to a halt. “Would you deprive yourself just to prove a point?” he asked, pulling her around into his lap. He hadn’t been joking then.

“You know I would,” she sniffed. “What is life but a series of disappointments?”

“Is it?” he asked, his grey eyes boring into hers. All playfulness was gone and Hermione resisted the urge to squirm beneath his scrutinization.

She turned away, looking at the pile of parchment on the table. Draco unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt and kissed her exposed skin.

“Is it?” he repeated, unbuttoning the next button and kissing her again.

She looked at him, feeling an angry tear escape. What right did she have to enjoy anything? Joy was always snatched away. She could feel dark tendrils tighten around her heart, and the tears dried a bit. There was some strange comfort in the darkness that invaded her unhealed heart.

“Yes,” she said, staring back at him, daring him to disagree. His fingers had continued working their way down her shirt and now Draco was peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms.

“What a pity, love,” he said, freeing her breasts from the confines of her black cotton bra. “Are you disappointed now?” he said, running a thumb over her left breast and waiting for her body to tell the truth. There it was, the tightening as she rose to the bait, a dampness between her legs he couldn’t see.

“We’re not going to have time to eat anything,” she said, but she didn’t move.

“I am,” he said. And then Draco lifted her off of his lap and onto the table in front of him. She stared at him. How did he stay so singularly focused on what he wanted?

Draco pulled off her undergarments and spread her legs.

“I really—” she began.

“—must shut up now,” Draco interrupted, pushing her back onto the table.

She heard a bit of parchment crumple and felt a surge of irritation return. She might have gotten up except that his mouth was making a point she couldn’t dismiss as he kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh. Then, his lips brushed against hers, the gentle stimulation ratcheting up her desire. Merlin, there was nothing disappointing about that.

She sighed, giving in. What was the point in depriving herself? If she was honest, she could admit that she was growing tired of indulging in periods of self-pity that were soothed only by denial of pleasure. It was completely illogical to believe that conjuring her own brand of misery would ever give her any real feeling of control over life, which felt scarily unpredictable and unbearably sad.

Draco spread her legs a bit wider. His tongue drove all thoughts from her head, and she relaxed for the first time all day, school work forgotten beneath her. She looked at the ceiling, not bothering to care whether anyone would walk in on them or not. It hardly mattered. Only this. She gasped and closed her eyes, his mouth convincing her that this was the only thing she needed right now. And as the pleasure began to build, so did her resolve to find joy wherever it still existed. After all, if she could belong to a world where unicorns were very real, perhaps there was a chance that happiness could yet be found somewhere. She sighed and felt her body relax finally—this was a lovely place to begin the search.


	14. May 1999: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been unforgivably long since the last update. I haven't abandoned the story! The last couple chapters are already outlined and partially written. Here's my next installment, with another to follow in a week or two. I'll aim for a chapter every 2 weeks, even if they are shorter than usual. We are nearing the end of the story, and I have an epilogue planned as well! Thanks for sticking with me.

May 1999

May broke through the April gray like a ray of sunshine no longer willing to be shut out. Hermione marveled at the shadows dancing in the golden light behind her eyelids as the sun shone through the branches of a rather large tree near the edge of the Black Lake. The sun felt warm on her skin and she relaxed a bit more. How was it that she had never spent a sunny afternoon lying on the shore of the lake while the Giant Squid floated lazily at the far end as if it, too, enjoyed the warm reprieve from the icy depths of the dark waters?

A swotty voice in her head began listing the range of reasons—everything from childish concerns to unbelievable tragedies that seemed to occur at the end of every year—but she shushed it. She just wanted to enjoy what time she had left. She had spent most of April trying to keep afloat in the ocean of grief she’d been plunged into, and though she knew she would carry her sorrow with her forever like the scar on her arm, she also knew that she had to try to find happiness wherever it still existed, and it most certainly did exist.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” said a voice Hermione quickly recognized as Pansy’s. She turned toward the sound and watched as Pansy dropped her satchel on the ground then joined Hermione in the grass, reclining comfortably on her back.

“I’ve scheduled some free time,” Hermione answered.

“Scheduled it, have you?” Pansy laughed. “Well, it’s about sodding time you relax, even if you did have to plan it.”

Pansy’s plaid skirt bunched up at her thighs as she propped up her knees then threw one leg over the other, leg bouncing as if it were eager to begin walking again. A movement just beyond caught Hermione’s attention and she watched a couple of fifth year boys nearly trip over themselves as they slowed to watch the show Pansy was unwittingly putting on. Then again, knowing Pansy as she did now, it may have been completely intentional. Hermione smiled and closed her eyes again, determined to enjoy a normal student activity for once in her life. Almost too late. She sighed.

“I assume you haven’t stuck to the study schedule I gave you?” Hermione teased. She had only given Pansy the schedule because of an offhand comment Pansy had made about whether or not higher N.E.W.T.s scores would afford her better options after Hogwarts.

“I think of it as more of an aspiration,” Pansy said airily, “or a look at what could have been had I been a more studious version of myself, you know, a more boring version. Snore.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said, happy to let Pansy prattle on for a while.

“Oh, fuck!” Pansy said, grasping Hermione’s arm. Hermione looked at Pansy, perplexed and slightly concerned. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean you. I don’t think you’re boring.” Pansy’s green eyes were wide, as if searching for Hermione’s forgiveness.

“Pansy,” Hermione said, going for a gentle, reassuring tone, “it’s okay.” A small laugh escaped from Hermione’s throat. Pansy was so worried about offending Hermione—with the truth, if Hermione were completely honest with herself—and yet this hardly registered to her as something that could be painful. As much as she appreciated Pansy’s concern, she couldn’t help but feel the lightness of this freedom. “I know what you meant. I’m not offended.” Pansy’s grip relaxed. There were more important things in life than being offended by words that were never intended to hurt.

“Hermione, I actually came out here to tell you...Merlin’s balls, this is not how I wanted this conversation to start out,” Pansy took a deep breath, “Ron has asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Hermione’s smile grew; perhaps there was something to these dreams she’d been having. But not all of them, she hoped, as she thought of the unhappiness she felt in the dreams where she was married to Ron. Her mind began to pull a thread apart, two separate strands that had twisted together—dreams of life with Ron and life with Draco. Knots would form if she wasn’t careful, but then she remembered herself and the girl lying next to her, and finally Hermione said, “Pansy, I’m pleased for you. Assuming, of course, it makes you happy.”  
Pansy tilted her head as if considering. “I think maybe it does. But if it upsets you…” Pansy finished with a small frown, her thumb rubbed Hermione’s arm absently as if trying to soothe her imagined hurt.

“What? No. Of course it doesn’t,” Hermione said. “You know, I actually had the most interesting dream—”

“Parkinson,” Draco interrupted. Both Hermione and Pansy turned toward him. Hermione stared at his silhouette as the sun shone behind him creating a sort of halo around him. How did he manage such theatrics, even by accident? “The Ravenclaw Head Girl seemed to think you’d be wanting these back.”

Pansy released Hermione’s arm to catch a small bundle of green lace.

“Though,” he continued, as Pansy snatched the fabric wearing an expression that would wipe the smirk off of anyone else’s face. Draco, however, continued to nettle her, “I do think I was right in mentioning that you may prefer to advertise the goods without obstruction.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy,” Pansy said, standing up and smoothing down her skirt, “but I have no need to advertise anything.” She undid another button on her shirt so that her dark green bra was now clearly visible, the soft curve of her breasts now on full display, then tossed her dark hair over her shoulder so that the view was not obstructed by even a single strand of hair.

“I expect that lot,” Draco’s head jerked in the direction of a small group of boys not far away, “would pay handsomely for that bit of fabric.” Hermione noticed figurative glances in Pansy’s direction and not a few smirks.

Pansy stood up, smoothed her skirt down, then picked up her bag, reaching without bending her knees so that her skirt rose high up the back of her thighs. Then she stood up again slowly and stepped close to Draco. “Perhaps you’d rather keep it for yourself, darling,” she said, letting the word drip off her tongue like sweet poison, “because that’s the closest you will ever come to getting your hands on my knickers.”

Draco blanched, and Hermione couldn’t stifle a giggle. It wasn’t often anyone got the better of him, and she rather enjoyed their exchange. Pansy sashayed away without a backward glance, stopping only momentarily to wink at Hermione in a flash of dark lashes as she passed.

“Can I help you up?” Draco said, extending a hand to her. She reached out and grabbed his hand, and then pulled. He fell on top of her, exactly as she had wanted.

“Remind me why we’ve never ventured outdoors?” she said, suggestively.

“What has gotten into you?” Draco said, smirking.

“I’ll tell you what hasn’t,” she said, grabbing his tie and pulling him into a kiss. His touch was soothing and the ache in her heart began to dull. His lips were soft against hers, his kiss gentle and restrained. Was it decorum that held him back or something else? She sucked in his bottom lip and bit down. He laughed and pressed a knee between her legs.

“Oh, break it up, you two,” Ginny’s voice interrupted.

“Is everyone outside today?” Hermione said, annoyed by how quickly the peace vanished. And yet…she felt a small bubble of contentment rise up inside her, joy tempered by the ever-present sorrow. Draco stood and then helped Hermione to her feet.

“Not for long,” Ginny said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Follow me.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks, then followed Ginny toward the castle. They passed a group of students laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Hermione didn’t think she could ever be so carefree again, despite the appearance of it by the lake. She sighed heavily, donning, once again, the weighty shroud of grief.

They passed students studying quietly in the great hall, anxious, no doubt by the looming shadow of O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts. There was so much studying left to do, and Hermione let her anxiety eat away her sadness.

“Alright?” Draco said to Hermione in a low voice as Ginny blazed a path ahead of them, determined to reach whatever destination she had in mind as quickly as possible.

“Well as ever,” Hermione said, with a small smile. Draco pulled a face and she knew he didn’t buy it. She shrugged and she could see Draco letting it go...for now, anyway.

Ginny came to a halt in a nearly empty corridor by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Draco and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks as they walked right past the door. Ginny stopped in the corridor and turned toward a wall right in front of a rather large portrait.

“Uh, Ginny,” Hermione said, “What are we doing here?”

“Will you just look in front of you for a moment?” Ginny said, using a tone Hermione had heard Mrs. Weasley use often when speaking to Ron.

Two portraits had been placed very close to each other. One was empty, but in the other, two people stood together.

“Professor Lupin,” Hermione said, quietly.

“Remus will do just fine, Hermione,” Lupin said, with a kind smile. Hermione felt her eyes welling up with tears. Even in a portrait, Lupin had the same worn look he’d had in life, as if years of transformation had taken their toll, aged him far beyond his natural years.

“Aunt Nymphadora?” Draco said. Hermione had forgotten their blood ties. How small the wizarding world really was. Blood ties and secret magic and wars invisible to muggles building walls around them all.

“Tonks,” the woman in the portrait corrected with a smile. Her arm was wrapped around Lupin’s waist and her head rested on his shoulder, waves of pale lavender hair falling down his chest. “How is little Teddy?” she said, eyes moving between Hermione and Ginny.

Draco spoke up, “Aunt Andromeda is caring for him. He’s a happy lad. Mother dotes on him.”

Tonks looked him over, eyes shining with tears, she smiled. Lupin’s arm was around her shoulder and Hermione could see him pull her closer.

“Harry visits him as often as he can,” Ginny said. “I expect he will be teaching Teddy to ride a broom as soon as he can walk.” Ginny laughed a bit.

“Give him our love,” Lupin said. “Both of them.” He clarified, and Ginny nodded. A tear rolled down Lupin’s cheek and Hermione couldn’t bear it.

She smiled and nodded and walked away, trying to swallow the sob that was threatening to escape her throat.

War. It had been inevitable. Necessary, even. And yet, they had lost so much. Her heart broke for Teddy, for Harry all over again. And then for herself, because in a way, she had lost her parents in this war, too. The tears spilled down her face.

And then her thoughts shifted to the children that had been lost to the hate that fueled this destruction. Her own, included. She leaned against a wall as her grief broke through the dam she’d built.

Her legs felt weak as she sobbed, eyes blurred with rivers of tears that would never run dry.

Draco caught up to her and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay, love,” he said, brushing her hair back. Hermione buried her face in his chest and let the tears fall; he absorbed them so graciously.

“I… I’m sorry,” Ginny said, catching up to them. “It’s just…”

Hermione took a deep breath, willing the sadness to subside so that she could listen. Her body still trembled, but Draco’s firm embrace soothed her and she began to calm.

“What is it, Weasley?” Draco asked.

“I need your help,” Ginny said.

Hermione stepped away from Draco and swiped a hand over her eyes to dry her tears. She couldn’t just go around crying all the time. It was impractical.

“What is it?” Hermione said, voice wavering a bit as if it were more committed to crying than to conversation.

“I need you to help me find Fred,” she said, eyes wild. “I’ve already seen Lavender and Colin and several others. I know he must be here somewhere. Please.” She sounded desperate, and Hermione knew what it must cost Ginny to reveal such feelings.

“Of course, we will help you,” Draco said. He took Hermione’s hand in his. They began walking without another word. The portrait could be in a million places. Hermione began to run through a list of spells that might help them find it, but then a thought occurred to her.

“I have an idea,” Hermione said, following a hunch. She pulled Draco up a staircase and Ginny followed quietly.

They walked in silence, eyes scanning portraits as they passed until they arrived at their destination.

“Password?” the Fat Lady said.

“Gryffindor Tower?” Ginny asked Hermione with a doubtful tone.

“Wrong!” The Fat Lady said in a singsong voice.

“Aria,” Ginny said to the Fat Lady, rolling her eyes.

“A request!” The Fat Lady chimed, swinging open with a grand gesture followed by a note that crescendoed to something unbearably shrill. They climbed through the portrait hole to escape the ear-piercing performance.

“Hermione,” Ginny said, once inside, “I don’t know why we’re here. Don’t you think I would have noticed if Fred’s portrait were here.”

“When did you see the other portraits?” Hermione asked.

“Only this afternoon,” Ginny said.

“And what time did you leave here?” Hermione pressed, eyes scanning the room even as Ginny’s were fixed on her.

“Early,” Ginny admitted, “I had quidditch practice.”

“Then you wouldn’t have noticed this,” Hermione said, walking toward a small gathering of squashy armchairs off to one side of the common room.

“Fred?” Ginny said quietly, for the portrait of Fred was sleeping not unlike the headmasters in Dumbledore’s office, or rather McGonagall’s office now. Hermione wondered how long it would take for her to accept the new reality of their lives.

Fred opened one eye. “Can’t a portrait get any peace and quiet around here? Only joking,” he said, opening both eyes and smiling mischievously, “I don’t actually need to sleep. How’s it, little sis?”

Ginny sank into one of the chairs and cried silently. Hermione drew close, putting a hand on Ginny’s shoulder in silent support.

“Filch wanted to hang me where we put that swamp, but I told him he’d better hang me here or I’d set Peeves on him. Haven’t actually seen Peeves, though, have I?” Fred looked thoughtful.

“It’s a good spot,” Ginny said in a watery voice.

“Don’t cry, Gin,” Fred said, face softening. “I’m here. And you still have George! And Ron, and Percy, and—”

“Will you stop?” Ginny said, “You know that’s not the same.”

“How’s Mum?”

“Exactly how you would expect her to be.”

“And George?” the smile had fallen away from Fred’s face.

“He’s opened Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and things are going well there,” Ginny said. “He…”

“Come on now, say it,” Fred coaxed.

“He needs help. He can’t do it on his own,” Ginny said.

“Maybe he should ask Ron,” Fred said, thoughtfully. Ginny’s head snapped to Hermione, eyes wide, recalling, no doubt, the conversation they’d had months ago about that very thing.

“I think you may be onto something,” Hermione said to Fred.

“We’ve got to head out now,” Draco said to Ginny.

“See you at dinner?” Hermione asked her.

Ginny nodded and turned toward Fred.

“Now tell me how mum is really doing?” they could hear Fred say as they walked away.

When the portrait swung to a close behind them—the Fat Lady blessedly silent, pouting because of the way they had fled, no doubt—Draco spoke.

“How did you know he’d be here?” Draco said, taking her hand as they walked.

“I…” Hermione thought about it for a moment, “I just had a feeling,” she finished, shrugging. She couldn’t explain the knowing. It was just there, certain and completely illogical. She had stopped trying to understand it or apply any sort of reason. It just was, and she trusted it.

At the bottom of the landing, Draco pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his

“I have a feeling,” he told her in a low voice, the “feeling” pressing into her pelvis.

“Do you?” she asked, somewhat bewildered by the fact that he could find her desirable when his shirt was still damp with her tears. “And what is this feeling telling you?”

Draco reached between them, sliding his hand inside her jeans. “Draco,” a weak protest, a resignation to the truth of their mutual attraction. She tried to come up with a good reason not to give in right there, “We are in plain sight of anyone coming or going to Gryffindor Tower.”

“And?” he said, finding her sweet spot and breathing the word in her ear as he kissed her. It hadn’t been a convincing argument to her either.

“And,” she said, voice hitching as his hand continued on its mission, “and…” she could hardly remember what they were talking about as his lips grazed her neck. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. “And I really wish I had worn a skirt.”

Draco laughed, removing his hand and pulling out his wand. “Shall I fix that?” he asked, eyes flashing.

Hermione groaned. “No,” she sighed, smoothing down her shirt. “Let’s just go back to our room.”

“I have a better idea,” Draco said, removing his hand and pulling her after him. She followed him, scanning the walls for portraits of the fallen as they went through the castle and finally into a familiar corridor.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, confused.

“Quiet your mind for just a moment,” he said, eyes demanding compliance. She nodded.

Draco paced and then a door appeared.

“I thought the Room of Requirement was destroyed by the fire,” she said, as Draco pulled the handle of the large door that had appeared. She wondered what would appear on the other side.

“It took some time before the room allowed us back in,” Draco explained as they walked into a wooded area, “and when we did get in, the room was full of ashwinders. Nearly fucking impossible to get rid of.” He shook his head, but wore a prideful smirk, because there were no ashwinders to be seen.

“So, where are we?” Hermione said, noticing stars twinkling through spaces in the canopy of trees whose leaves rustled in a gentle wind. What a wonder this room was. “What is it you require?” She pressed.

Draco stopped and pulled her into his arms. “A place where we are the only ones who exist. I tire of the endless interruptions,” he kissed her neck, “and you require an escape from a world filled with endless reminders of the things we’ve lost.” He pulled back and looked at her face, searching for the truth. She only nodded, understanding and in complete agreement.  
Hermione kissed him, reminding herself to hold onto the beautiful things they still had. Crickets chirruped somewhere in the distance and Hermione thought she heard running water, like a small brook or a meandering river content to flow without resistance to the land around it. Probably one created by all the tears she’d shed this year. A small laugh erupted.

“What is it?” Draco said, cocking his head. Hermione could see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips even as a perplexed line appeared between his brows. Hermione’s eyes took in every bit of his beautiful face, struck by the fact that, against all odds, she stood there in Draco Malfoy’s arms and that it felt so much like home.

“What a year it has been,” Hermione smiled.

“Ah, yes. That,” Draco said, quietly.

“I never would have predicted this,” she began.

“You were never one for divination, love. Everyone knows that,” Draco teased.

“True,” she admitted, “and yet… I don’t know…” she tried to find the words to explain the dreams she’d been having all year, the inexplicable knowing she couldn’t shake or justify.  
Draco waited in silence, mercurial eyes sparking in the moonlight. He knew. He knew her without requiring her to explain herself. It was a relief and a comfort.

“You wouldn’t change a thing even if you could have predicted it,” Draco supplied. Hermione hadn’t been sure of that until he said it. The words had a ring of truth she couldn't deny. She felt Draco’s hands press into the small of her back, sending a tingle of electricity up her spine as her body melded into his.

“No, you’re right, I wouldn’t,” Hermione said, “even…” but she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. She was still plagued by “what ifs” that could have spared the life of her child. It was her fault for not noticing, for not being more careful. She felt the guilt choking her, tears stinging her eyes, reality crushing her lungs and pressing in around her fragile heart.  
Draco kissed her and she allowed herself the pleasure of feeling his lips against hers—supple, gentle but firm. A hot tear slid down her cheek to the corner of her mouth, and she felt Draco’s tongue dart out to catch it before tracing the shape of her lips. It was as if he were consuming her sadness, transmuting it to something less painful. She didn’t have to carry the weight of it by herself, and a little voice in her head reminded her that she didn’t have to blame herself either.

Draco pulled away and looked at her for a moment. Surely her tears glistened in the moonlight and she soaked it in, wishing the moon’s gentle light could heal her heart and finally dry up the endless well of grief. Draco’s hand slid into hers, his long fingers lacing between hers effortlessly, as if they were made to fit together.

“Come, love,” Draco said, pulling her through the trees to a clearing. A warm wind blew across the open field and the thistles swayed in a graceful dance. “Look up,” Draco said, in a commanding tone that was both suggestive and demanding of compliance. Her body automatically responded--her eyes lifting to the sky as her skin erupted in gooseflesh the way it did when he touched her lightly.

The night sky was clear. Stars shone brightly through a velvety lapis sky. But one cluster of stars twinkled playfully, catching her eye, almost as if trying to get her attention.

“Ah, you’ve spotted it,” Draco said. Hermione tore her eyes away to find that he was watching her and not the sky as she had been. She felt the heat of his gaze and tried to focus on puzzling out his meaning.

“What exactly is “it”?” she asked, distracted by the pleased but sad look on his face and the heat from his touch still coursing through her body.

“The constellation, love,” Draco said, “look up.” And she did.

“Lyra,” she said, realizing that the twinkling cluster of stars had indeed been calling to her. She felt her heart swell, and instead of pressing into the painful shards of her grief, she felt a small feeling she was sure was a seed of joy.

“You see,” Draco said, “she hasn’t really left us at all.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

They watched the stars in silence for a moment. When Hermione turned to look at Draco, she could see a shining streak of water on his cheek. Hermione moved closer and put her free hand over Draco’s heart, “No, she hasn’t,” Hermione said. Draco’s eyes met hers and she continued, “and she never will.”

Hermione kissed Draco and heard the dulcet tones of a harp playing. It sounded familiar, somehow. The sound was soothing, and with each note, she could feel a stitch mending her broken heart.

Draco’s touch was a salve, and she craved it, craved him, needed him.

A fire erupted inside her, spreading through her veins, and soon her hands were desperate to free them from the clothes that kept her skin from making full contact with his.

Draco’s hand slid through her hair as she pulled his shirt free from his trousers. She pushed up the shirt, palms grazing his lean torso, fingertips telling her of every scar but the one in his heart.  
And then suddenly, they had no clothes.

“Mmm, nicely done,” she whispered to Draco, who let his wand drop to the ground. She hadn’t liked the first time he had surprised her with that trick on the train, but this time it was very much appreciated. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close, relishing the warmth of his body next to hers.

And then he lifted her off the ground and onto his cock. She wrapped her legs around his waist to steady herself and draw him all the way into her depths, already slick with desire. He let out a guttural moan that caused her nipples to harden. She reveled in the friction it created as he lifted her up and then down so that he slid in then out. She pushed her pelvis into him wanting more friction and the ring was crushed into her breastbone. She closed her eyes and imagined the emerald pushing green roots right into their chests, weaving around their hearts, and flowing love from one heart to the other in endless loops, healing and repairing any damage they had sustained.

There was a pulsing between her legs that grew with every thrust, expanding to her whole body. And at its apex, that place where she was joined to him, a heat built until she could no longer contain the pleasure that was building in wave after wave. She cried out and tightened her arms around him. And then she felt the warmth of his own pleasure being released inside her and then evaporating as it always did with their little contraceptive spell. No more accidental pregnancies. Tears slid down her cheeks as Draco gently lowered her to the ground. Grass soft beneath her bare feet, the earth warm and welcoming as she sunk into the soil rooted to this spot. And she looked up to the sky, feeling part of herself reach up and up and up to the constellations. Draco pressed warm kisses to her cheeks and she felt all the perfection of this moment in this place. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.  
  


***

That evening, the Great Hall was filled with floating candles, the walls were draped with heavy black cloth. The sky above was filled with steely gray clouds drifting by allowing only occasional glimpses of starlight. It was as if the castle was in mourning.

Hermione looked at Draco in question as they took a seat at a table near the wall, which she had to remind herself was actually the Slytherin table—not that you would know to look at the assortment of students commingling down the long benches.

“It’s been one year since the Battle of Hogwarts,” Draco said quietly, averting his eyes. Hermione remembered the look of fear and horror on his face as they all raced to escape the Fiendfyre Goyle had unleashed, a curse that was far beyond his ability to control. It has cost both Crabbe and Goyle their lives, and whatever stupid choices they had ever made, including fighting on the wrong side of the war, the boys had been Draco’s friends.

Hermione slid her hand into Draco’s as they sat, and she pressed against his side, offering whatever comfort she could. She saw a small smile appear on his face and he squeezed her hand.  
Hermione looked around for Ginny, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Luna,” Hermione said, “have you seen Ginny this afternoon?”  
“No,” Luna said, with an unconcerned tone, “but I’m sure she’ll turn up soon enough.”

Hermione wondered how Luna could be so calm and certain, even as Hermione felt the truth of the words. She shrugged and turned toward the Head Table, where the teachers sat speaking in hushed voices as people often do before the start of a funeral. Her eyes swept the table, noting the vacant seats, including Snape’s. She couldn’t think about Snape right now. It was too heartbreaking.

Another vacant seat: Hagrid’s. Harry had told her that Hagrid had taken a year of leave to find a new home for Grawp and take care of other business, which Harry most likely hadn’t bothered to ask about. She missed Hagrid and his kindly presence. Hermione had been so preoccupied with Draco and her grief and school that she hadn’t really thought much about the other relationships that had made her time at Hogwarts special.

Now that time was almost up. And while the wizarding world was relatively small, they would all go their separate ways. She wouldn’t bump into her friends in the corridors or sit alongside them in the stands of the Quidditch pitch wearing house colors and cheering for their team as if that victory was the most critical thing in the world. The weight of it squeezed around her heart and she felt a tear escape.

“Okay, love?” Draco whispered into her ear. If she tried to speak, she was certain the only thing to come out of her mouth would be a sob, and she couldn’t stand the public crying anymore. She nodded. Draco’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, but he didn’t question her further. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and took a few deep breaths. Her heart slowed and she swallowed back her tears. But she knew it was just a temporary retreat; this evening, she was certain, would draw tears from everyone.

“Good evening,” McGonagall’s voice rang across the hall, and the silence was immediate. McGonagall wore her signature emerald green robes, rather than the all black ensemble that many of the other teachers had opted for. It was intentional, Hermione was certain. “As many of you know, today marks one year from the Battle of Hogwarts.” Many heads around the room nodded but most stared at McGonagall in waiting.

“Today, we will not celebrate our triumph over evil, because we paid a high price for that victory. Today, we will honor our fallen comrades. We will take a moment to remember them. We will recognize the great sacrifice they made so that we might sit here today, united. Wounded, but united. Grieving, but united.” The great hall echoed in silence as McGonagall paused, allowing everyone to have a moment to remember those they had lost. Hermione could see that the tears were already flowing. The ghosts stood still along the far wall, and Hermione half expected to see some of the departed appear among their ranks, but none appeared. A small voice in Hermione’s head suggested that she might not like to spend the rest of eternity standing next to the Bloody Baron, either. She shivered and turned her attention back to McGonagall. Draco squeezed her hand reassuringly, perhaps thinking she was remembering the horrors of that night, but she couldn’t bear to think about it too long, so she didn’t.

“Hogwarts will never forget these fallen heroes. Indeed, many of you will have already seen their portraits around the castle, allowing them to live on forever in the place they died to save.” Just then, the doors to the Great Hall opened and Ginny came striding through, red hair flowing freely behind her as she made her way to the Slytherin table. People turned to look and quickly turned back to McGonagall, repelled, no doubt, by the fierce look on Ginny’s face. McGonagall made eye contact with Ginny and gave a nod of deference. Ginny nodded back and sat.

“It is the responsibility of every one of us to make sure they did not die in vain,” McGongall continued, and here she gave them all a severe look. There was a quiet rustling throughout the hall as students squirmed in their seats. “Together, we will rebuild. Together, we will find a new way to resolve our differences. And every one of you will be a shining example of how to create a society that allows for these differences, that includes others regardless of these differences.” McGonagall smiled, approving of the community they had built that year. A very small group of Slytherin’s scowled, some Gryffindor’s shot angry looks their way, but most smiled or nodded in recognition of their progress.

“I think Miss Granger said it best,” McGonagall said, finding Hermione’s eyes in the crowd. Hermione wanted to shrink beneath the table; she could feel her cheeks burning as eyes bore into her, many with great admiration, others with skepticism, a few with annoyed disdain. “When we stand together as one,” McGonagall quoted her letter, “then one will never have the power to divide us again.”

“To the fallen,” Ginny said, standing. Her red hair fluttered, though there was no wind, her cheeks were pink as if she had been out in the cold, and her eyes sparked. Ginny raised her wand, its tip glowed brightly. “We honor their lives with our fight for peace.” There was a scraping of benches as everyone stood and raised their wands in unity. Hermione’s heart swelled and she allowed the tears to flow freely as the black drapes around the hall transformed into the united house colors of the Hogwarts crest.

Tears did flow that night, but Hermione was pleased to hear the sound of laughter and excited discussions about portraits that had already been spotted around the castle. And though Draco was more quiet than usual, Hermione felt peace with the coexistence of this joy and sorrow for it meant they were alive. And if they were still alive, there were things that could be done.

Hermione knew that things had to change in the greater wizarding world, and in that moment, she was determined to do her part to usher in that new way.


End file.
